Flesh and Blood
by The Blue Raven
Summary: After the Periculum, Irons calls on a woman whom he believes can wrest the Witchblade from Sara’s control and successfully wield it herself. He soon finds, though, that she has different plans for the Blade, and different loyalties than he thought.
1. Cailean

**Flesh and Blood**

By: Blue

Summary: After Sara successfully passes the Periculum, Irons calls on a woman whom he believes can wrest the Witchblade from Sara's control and successfully wield it herself. He soon finds, though, that she has different plans for the Blade, and different loyalties than he had supposed.

Rating: R -- This is probably the darkest thing I've ever written. Forewarned… Forearmed. (Rating for subject matter including rape, implied incest, drug abuse, domestic violence, and suicide.)

Disclaimer: I don't own them (except poor Cailean), I'm only borrowing them. I'll put them back in roughly the same shape I found them in.

Timeline: Season 1, between Periculum and Thanatopsis.

Feedback: Yes, please. Feedback is always welcomed. Just, please, not too many flames. (ravenkatk@aol.com)

**Chapter 1 -- Cailean**

It was a warm, sunny day, the kind that most people would have found quite lovely. Also, it was the kind of day that made it hard for a woman to keep herself concealed on a bustling ship. Fortunately, for one with training, there were plenty of places to hide until the amount of traffic in the area decreased enough for her to disembark. She allowed herself to almost smile at her mental use of the word: it implied that she had paid for her passage on the cargo-vessel.

Of course, booking passage on a ship or an airplane would have been too high-profile. Overt simply was not her style. She preferred working in the shadows, where she could strike and vanish from notice again in an instant, or simply vanish without ever having _been_ noticed, if that was what was called for. She preferred dwelling in the shadows as well. Darkness was, for her, a very comfortable thing indeed.

She crouched on deck, under a tarp, waiting for the crew to either leave or offload their cargo. It was oppressively warm there, but she did not remove her coat. She very seldom bothered with such details as her own comfort. She could have been wearing the heavy clothes in 110 degree weather or nothing at all in 20 degree weather. Niether would have seriously impaired her ability to function. She might have been proud of the fact if she had ever let her mind admit such an emotion.

Although she was not tired, she closed her eyes. The air around her was alive with sound. In the distance she could hear cars honking their horns; closer, people yelling orders or carrying on tritely meaningless conversations, birds crying, boat whistles, all the sounds that made a dock a dock. They were meaningless to her, but she listened anyway, biding her time, gathering what information she could. 

A man was considering divorce... Useless. From his tone of voice, he would never go through with it anyway. The boat had been carrying cars... Known. She was currently leaning against one. The temperature was expected to drop twenty degrees overnight... Irrelevant. She could expect a place to stay by nightfall. 

The conversations became fewer as the sailors drifted away from the boat. A man was complaining about how little he was paid, about how hard it was to make his child-support payments. Finally, the last of the conversants moved off, leaving her alone on the boat. 

She pulled back the tarp, peering around cautiously before emerging into the dimming light. Given the weather, her clothes would have seemed out of place to any observer: a black turtleneck sweater, heavy black slacks, a long trench coat, also black, black gloves, a black knit cap, black work-boots. If the clothes had been more weather-appropriate, she might actually have blended into a crowd quite well. Black was, after all, not an unpopular color.

With another cautious glance around the deck, she left the protection of the covered car and crossed the abandoned ship, keeping low to the ground to avoid being seen from the dock. She considered going down the gangplank, but immediately dismissed the idea as too overt. Instead, she found an abandoned section of dock between two old warehouses, neither of which looked as though they had been used in the past twenty years, and climbed onto the ship's guardrail. With a last cautious glance around, she jumped, landing lightly on her feet.

A gunshot sounded nearby, but she ignored it. New York, it seemed, had not changed in ten years. She started through the maze of warehouses. She stopped suddenly, watching a scruffy-looking man leaning over another man, riffling through his pockets. The second man was bleeding as an obvious result of the gunshot she had heard. She watched for a moment, curious, until the first man became aware of her presence. He raised his gun, and she sighed. With a lightening-quick movement, she pulled a small metal disk from a pouch around her waist and hurled it at the man, smiling faintly as it sunk into his wrist. He would never use that hand again. He stared at her for a moment, too stunned to realize how much pain he was in. Then he fled, the disk still lodged in his wrist.

She shook her head in disgust at the loss of a perfectly good weapon and kept walking.

"Help me..." the man on the ground groaned.

She ignored him and kept walking. 

"For the love of God! I have a family."

She paused and dropped to her knees next to him. "Do you have a cell-phone?"

He nodded weakly and indicated his front pocket. She pulled out the phone and dialed 911. 

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"A man has been shot." She glanced at him thoughtfully. "He would seem to be dying."

"Where are you?"

"The docks." She looked around and relayed a more detailed description of the area. "You should hurry..." she added flatly. "He's going into shock." She hung up the phone and dropped it next to the man, rising.

"Please..." he whimpered.

She frowned imperceptibly, but knelt next to him again. The phone rang, but she ignored it. "Drug addiction is a sign of weakness..." she informed him quietly. "And the men who deal in them are not to be trusted." She pulled a knife from her boot and cut off his tie, wadding it up and pressing it into the hole in his chest.

He looked surprised, but did not deny that he had been buying drugs. "Thank you for helping me..." he managed, reaching up and loosely wrapping a hand around her wrist.

She shrugged his hand off. "I'm quite certain that I shall live to regret it..." She lapsed into silence until the sound of approaching sirens became louder. She glanced down at the man, aware that he would die if she left now. Her internal debate was short: she would stay. By the time she had made that determination, the man was already unconscious.

The first police officer on the scene took one look at her and pulled his gun. "Step away from him."

"He will die if I do what you ask. You can arrest me after the ambulance has come." She gazed steadily at the Officer.

He swallowed hard and backed down, oddly intimidated by the small woman. "What happened here?" he asked instead, keeping his gun trained on her.

She stared at the gun in quiet contempt and returned her attention to the man. The ambulance arrived shortly after the Officer, and she stepped back to allow them to work. She made no resistance as the Officer handcuffed her and roughly shoved her into the back of his car, but she refused to answer a word to any of his questions.

***

"Score one for the good guys..." Jake said with a grin as the cell door slid shut on their suspect, a man who was suspected of shooting his ex-girlfriend.

Sara nodded  noncommittally. "Now all we need is a murder-weapon."

Jake smiled and shook his head. "Cynic."

"Well, I prefer 'realist', but okay..." Sara grinned at him. "So, you want to go grab a beer?"

"Wow, and act like real cops for a change?" Jake grinned and nodded.

Sara shook her head, smiling. "Let's get out of here, okay?"

Jake nodded and they started out of the holding area. "It's good to see that you're in a better mood lately."

"Yeah..." Sara muttered, nodding. 

She paused as they walked past a cell. A young woman in black slacks and a black turtleneck sat on the cot, cross-legged with her elbows resting on her knees. Her black hair was clean but stringy, and her hazel eyes were striking. She stared absently into space, her head tilted slightly to the left. To Sara, she looked almost comatose, or perhaps in some kind of trance.

"Pez?" Jake asked quietly, tugging at her sleeve.

Sara looked up, startled. "Sorry." She glanced at the Officer on duty. "Is she okay?"

He shrugged. "She's been like that since we brought her in. Hasn't said a word since they found her."

Sara frowned. "Maybe she should be in a mental hospital instead of a holding-cell."

"Not my call, Detective." He shrugged again.

Sara nodded. He was right. "What's she being held for?"

"Suspicion of attempted murder. A man was shot."

Sara frowned. "Weapons?"

"A couple of knives, a gun, and several... of these things." He dropped a small metal disk onto the counter. "Careful, it's pretty damned sharp..." he warned as Sara reached to pick it up.

"What the hell is that thing?" Jake asked, leaning over Sara's shoulder for a better look.

"It's a shirken..." Sara told him, gingerly picking it up. "A kind of weapon that you throw."

Jake nodded. "I've heard of them. Ninjas, right?"

"Yeah." Sara nodded. "Has her gun been fired recently?" she asked the duty Officer.

He shook his head. "No."

"And she hasn't said a word?"

He gave another shake of the head. Sara hesitated for a moment, staring at the woman. A series of images flooded into her brain, fighting for supremecy. The woman was the defining feature of all of them, but beyond that, they held little in common. In some of the images, she wore a business suit, in others she wore armor or peasant-garb. Sara closed her eyes, trying to force the images to clarify themselves.

One image sprung into the forefront. Sara recognized it from her dreams. She saw the woman standing at a window, tears streaming down her face. In the background, two men spoke in hushed voices. The woman reached up and rested one hand against the window. Her face spoke clearly; wherever she was, she wanted _out_. Badly. Suddenly she pulled her hand back and drove it through the pane of glass. As the glass shattered, Sara saw a hundred reflections of the woman's face and one of her own.

Shaking her head, Sara shrugged the vision off. It was nothing like the normally quick and confused images that the Witchblade normally delivered. "Let me in."

"Um, Pez?" Jake asked uncertainly.

"I want to talk to her." Sara looked at the Officer on duty. "Open up."

"Yes, Detective." He opened the cell door.

Sara stepped inside and crouched in front of the woman. "Hi. I'm Sara. What's your name?"

She slowly looked up at Sara and held her gaze for a moment before glancing at the floor. "Cailean." She had a faintly Irish accent, but her voice was quiet and subdued.

Sara smiled and patted her knee. To her surprise, the girl flinched. "Hey, it's okay, Cailean. I didn't mean to scare you."

She continued staring at the ground. "Forgive me. I don't like being touched."

Sara nearly fell over as she experienced a blinding flash of visions: pain, blood, the crack of a whip, the sound of it biting into bare skin, muffled sobbing, a young boy gently murmuring words of comfort, an indescrible sense of rage and, from someone else, shame.

"Then we won't do that again." Sara smiled reassuringly and quickly withdrew her hand. "Why haven't you talked to anyone before?"

"No one's yet said anything worthy of my response."

"Did you try to kill that man?"

She shook her head almost imperceptibly. "I called an ambulance. I saved his life."

"But did you shoot him?"

"Your experts will tell you that my gun has not been fired recently."

"That's not an answer."

"There was no powder-residue on my hands."

"Maybe you were wearing gloves."

"There was no residue on those, either."

"Why don't you tell me what happened?" Sara suggested gently.

"I got off the ship, was walking through the ship-yards, and nearly tripped over a man. What was his name?"

Sara shook her head. "I don't know."

Cailean nodded. "He was badly injured, so I applied what first aid I could and called for an ambulance." 

She glanced up at Sara for a moment before returning her gaze to the ground. "And then I was arrested."

"Why didn't you speak in your defense?"

"It did not seem the right time."

"What were you waiting for?"

"Perhaps for you, my Lady..." Cailean muttered, brushing her hand against the Witchblade with a look of awe on her face. She stared at the ground and drew back into herself.

"Cailean?" Sara asked quietly, frowning. 

The Witchblade tried to show her another vision, but, with effort, she pushed it aside, focusing instead on the girl. She called her name again. Cailean did not respond. Frowning, Sara gently touched her knee again, without eliciting a response. Shaking her head, she rose and walked to the cell door.

"What was that all about?" Jake whispered as Sara left the cell.

Sara shook her head, not entirely sure herself. "Woman belongs in a mental hospital, not a jail-cell, Jake."

"Actually, it looks like she doesn't belong in either..." the duty Officer said. "Looks like she's been bailed out."

"By who?" Sara asked, frowning.

"By me, Detective Pezzini..." Ian Nottingham muttered, walking past her and approaching the cell. "Get up, Cailean. Mister Irons recieved the message you left on his voice-mail and has sent me to retrieve you."

She looked up, startled. "Brother?"

He nodded, staring at the ground in the position that Sara recognized as the one he usually employed only in the presence of Ken Irons. "What has happened?"

She stood before him in the exact same posture. "They accused me of trying to kill a man, Ian."

Ian glanced up for a split-second. "And?"

"And the evidence will vindicate me. Naturally."

Sara thought she saw Ian scowl. "Naturally." 

The duty Officer opened the cell door and Ian swept out of the holding area without a backwards glance at Cailean. She turned towards Sara and bowed to the waist.

"Your things, ma'am." The duty Officer handed her a small box.

She nodded and pulled an empty shoulder-holster from the box, strapping it on. She pulled several knives out of the box and tucked two into her boots and a third up her sleeve. She tied the full belt-pouch around her waist, retrieving the shirken on the table, and then pulled on a black trench coat, not at all unlike Ian's. She reached into the box once more and produced a knit-cap which she pulled onto her head and a pair of leather gloves that she quickly slid on. Sara and Jake both thought that the resemblance to Ian Nottingham was uncanny. With another bow to Sara, she turned and walked in the direction that he had gone.

Sara started after her, but Jake caught her arm. "Pez..."

"Let me handle this, Rookie." Sara twisted out of his grasp and started after them.

Jake stared after her, frowning. "It just _had_ to be Nottingham..." he muttered, shaking his head and wondering why the woman had _bowed_ to Sara. "What is it with her and those people?"

Sara followed at a safe distance, aware that Cailean was not going in the direction of the exit. She stopped when Cailean stepped through a door. Ian was waiting for her in the empty hallway. Sara leaned against the wall so that she could not be seen and watched them.

A man appeared behind her. "Eavesdropping, Sara?"

Sara shook her head faintly. "Not now, Danny. I want to know what's up with them."

"Are you sure about that?"

She nodded and leaned closer to the door, allowing the Witchblade to help her hear what was being said. 

"Did you do it?" Ian asked urgently.

"You should know by now that I do nothing but by our Master's express orders. Our Master has not ordered me to kill anyone in quite some time."

Ian sighed and nodded. "It's been too long, Cailean."

She smiled slightly and nodded. "The years have been lonely, my brother."

Ian nodded imperceptibly. "Our Master will be expecting us."

"Yet you wish to linger here?" she asked gently.

He nodded. 

"Ask what you would know, Ian. I _will_ answer."

"What are you doing in this country?"

"Our Master has called me back."

"But the Lady Sara has already passed the Periculum!" Ian protested.

Cailean nodded. "Which would seem to make my presence here superfluous."

Ian frowned. "Unless our Master has other plans for you."

Cailean shivered visibly. Ian pulled off one of his gloves and gently caressed her cheek, which seemed to calm her. She leaned into his hand for a moment, half-closing her eyes and allowing an unguarded smile to cross her face. Abruptly, she straightened and composed herself, shaking her head.

She glanced up at him as he pulled the glove back on. "He's Kenneth Irons. He can get _that_ anywhere and from anyone. He does not need me." She stared at her feet again. "It's more likely that he plans on holding me in reserve."

"Holding you in reserve?" Ian frowned. "Against what?"

"I have not yet spoken to him."

"You're being evasive."

"I've learned well from our Master."

Ian  nodded acceptance of the comment. "Are you ready to go to him?"

She hesitated for a split-second before nodding. "I am my Master's to command."

Ian sighed. "Come."

Sara drew away as the two approached, ducking into an empty office.

"Learn anything interesting?" Danny asked quietly.

Sara shook her head. "They don't even talk straight to each other."

Danny smiled. "You were always impatient."

_Especially that day at the Rialto when I got you killed because I couldn't even wait for backup. _"Yeah, like you weren't?" she joked, trying to ignore the memory of holding him in her arms as he died.

"It's amazing how being dead helps you put things in perspective."

Sara smiled sadly at him. "God, I wish I could take that day back, Danny..."

He nodded, but his smile was only nostalgic, not sad. "Every day above ground is a gift, Sara, but there are worse things than being what I am."

Sara nodded slowly, wishing that he had not just quoted something she had told him so shortly before his death. "What's she doing here, Danny?" she asked with a sigh.

"That was Ian Nottingham's question..." Danny pointed out gently. 

"It's a valid one!"

"Leave this one alone, Sara..." Danny suggested gently. "I know how you feel about Nottingham and Irons, I know you don't trust them, but leave this one alone. You don't want to be involved in this."

"What do you know?"

He shook his head. "Very little. I just have a bad feeling about this. Just... leave it alone."

"I wish I could, Danny..." Sara muttered, shaking her head. 

"Hey, Pez?" Jake's voice called.

Sara looked in the direction of the voice. Sighing, she left the office to find Jake. "Hey."

"Hey. There you are."

"Yeah." She nodded, shrugging.

"What's up?" Jake asked, frowning slightly. "Why'd you run off like that?"

"They're up to something, Jake. That woman... There's something off about her."

"Must run in the family." Jake shrugged. "But we had no reason to hold her."

"Concealed weapons."

"She had permits. That's how they got her name when they booked her."

Sara sighed. "Nice and legal. Bet I know who got her the permits, too."

Jake nodded. "Profession is listed as personal security for Mr. Kenneth Irons. Sibling assassins. Cute."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Guess being strange isn't the only thing that runs in the family..."

"You still want those drinks?" Jake asked.

Sara sighed and nodded. "More than ever." She looked back at Danny. "I'll meet you at the car, Jake. I just need to... um... use the restroom."

"Sure thing, Pez." Jake nodded and left.

"Clever..." Danny muttered, shaking his head. 

"What was I supposed to say? 'Go away, Jake, I need to talk to my dead partner'?"

He shrugged, smiling. "Well, it would have gotten rid of him."

Sara grinned, chuckling softly.

Danny smiled too, but quickly became serious. "Sara, you should leave this alone."

She shook her head. "I can't, Danny. I... I can't really explain it, but... it's like the Blade's pulled to her. Or  like I am." She gave an agitated shrug. "I want to know why."

Danny nodded slowly. "Be careful, Sara."

"Always. And you..." She pointed at him, looking serious. "_You_ let me know if  you find anything out."

Danny nodded again and watched her leave, sighing. "Did I mention I have a bad feeling about this?" he muttered softly as she walked off.


	2. Iron Hand

**Chapter 2 -- Iron Hand**

Irons stood facing the fireplace, drink in hand, more interested in the patterns that the firelight produced when it played off of the cut crystal than in the contents of the goblet. The facets of the container allowed him to survey the entire room without turning his face from the fire. Tipping it slightly, he examined the reflection of his own face, smiling with pleasure at what he saw. Almost one hundred years old, and, on a good day, he could still be mistaken for a man in his late thirties. He tilted the glass again as the door opened, catching a reflection of his two favorite employees. 

When Ian and Cailean entered the sitting-room, he did not immediately turn around, knowing that they would await his pleasure, all night if they had to. He brushed an imaginary speck of dust off of the lapel of his Italian suit and reflected thoughtfully over his glass of sherry for several more moments before turning to face the two. The fact that, even after better than ten years of separation, they still chose to adorn themselves almost identically did not escape him. They had been playing that trick since childhood, even when separated by great distances.

An amused half-smile crossed his face as he scrutinized them. They stood on either side of the door, leaning slightly forward, heads bowed, hands behind their backs, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. He was faintly reminded of the matching stone lions that some of his neighbors placed on either side of their front drives. Except that _these_ lions were actually deadly. 

His smile changed from amused to almost paternal as he deepened his scrutiny. The pair definitely stood apart as some of his finest work. Physically superior, they also had sharp minds, and only such morals as he had chosen to instill in them. Which was to say, very few morals at all. They would kill for him, both had on more than one occasion, and neither had ever been troubled by anything quite as petty as guilt. They would have been dangerous if not for their loyalty to him. As it was, they were the perfect tools.

Ian had not much changed in ten years. Cailean had changed, but only enough that she resembled Ian more now than ever before in her thirty years of existence. She was prettier, certainly, but in form and manner she resembled him more than could reasonably be considered normal for siblings. He had no doubt that she would prove every bit as valuable to him as Ian himself had over the years. Perhaps even more so.

"Come here..." he ordered quietly. Both started forward, but he held up his hand, forestalling Ian. "_You_ stay there. _You_ come here, Cailean."

Cailean approached quickly, keeping her head respectfully bowed. Or perhaps it was simply fear that kept her head down. Irons nodded approvingly as she came to a stop five feet from him. She had not willingly come closer to him than that since she had been seven, a fact which did not entirely displease him. She was less complacent than Ian, knew her place better, a trait which Irons had always taken pains to encourage. He closed the distance between them and came to a stop directly next to her. Although she made no move or protest, or, for that matter, _any_ indication that she was aware of his presence, he could sense that she was not enjoying his proximity. 

Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of her lowered eyes, allowing his fingers to brush against her skin, _almost_ eliciting an overt response. He saw her sway slightly on her feet before composing herself. In anyone else, it would have been too minor to even be considered a response. From Cailean, it was something akin to a startled scream.

Cailean swallowed hard and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He had that smug look on his face, the one that said that he knew full well that his touch was abhorrent to her for the memories that came with it. She closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to regulate her breathing, reminding herself that fear was the most counterproductive of emotions, that it would gain her nothing. She knew full well what the caress foreshadowed, knew that there was nothing that she could do to prevent it, knew that she had to accept it, just as she always had in the past. 

Without raising her head, she glanced from Irons to Ian. She could _feel_ the anger radiating off of him in waves, like heat from a fire. It was a wonder that even the insensitive Irons could not feel it. Ian raised his head slightly, glaring at Irons. He could feel Cailean's discomfort and apprehension and, ultimately, her acceptance of the inevitable. That angered him the most, that any woman should _ever_ be forced to accept what Cailean had been quietly accepting since the age of seventeen.

"And how was your training?" Irons breathed in her ear, wondering what other responses he could draw from her during this interview. 

Cailean kept her eyes on the ground, focused only on getting through the interview as quickly as possible. If he was in a good mood at the end, he might even grant her some private time with Ian. "Productive, my Master. I have learned many things."

"And did you miss me?" Irons muttered, moving behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders. 

Because he was behind her, he could not see her eyes close as she spoke, but he must have felt the spasm that shook her petite frame. "I reminded myself continuously that I was away from you that I might serve you better, my Master." She opened her eyes again and stole a sideways glance at Ian. He was pale, angry, and swaying slightly on his feet. "But that is over now, my Master." 

_Ian, no..._ she pled mentally, afraid that he might say or do something foolish.

Ian started slightly, glancing at her curiously. After a brief internal battle, he dropped his head again and resumed his normal posture, still angry with Irons, but unwilling to disobey his sister's gentle plea.

Irons nodded. "Yes, it is over now. We can be together again. Would you like that, Cailean?"

_Why does he enjoy doing this?_ She experienced a fleeting suspicion that a great measure of his pleasure in this 'game' came not from Cailean's reaction at all, but from antagonizing Ian. Otherwise, he surely would not have forced Ian to watch the interplay. She wondered how he would have felt if he had known what a dangerous game he was playing in that respect. Irons was, perhaps, the only person who knew Ian's potential and still made the mistake of underestimating him.

"I am my Master's to command. As always." She breathed another silent plea to Ian to compose himself before Irons realized how upset he truly was. Irons might forgive minor irritation simply because he was amused by it, but Ian was, behind his controlled exterior, furious, and Irons would never tolerate that from him. It would have been dangerous.

Irons nodded and circled around her. He cupped her chin in his hands and slowly forced her head up. It looked like a gentle gesture, but a lesser woman would have been left with bruises for a week. He examined her face thoughtfully for several minutes, turning it this way or that to get a better look, almost as if he were scrutinizing a racehorse he was about to purchase instead of a human-being. Cailean actually preferred the impersonal examination to the previous, more tender touches.

"Have your fighting skills improved?" Irons finally asked, releasing her.

She immediately resumed the subservient posture that she had been in before. "My tutors tell me so, my Master." 

"Take your coat off."

Although she frowned faintly, confused by the request, she obeyed instantly, holding it in her hands and awaiting further instruction.

"You, too, Ian."

Curious, Ian slid his own coat off.

"Put them on the coat-rack. We're going to have a friendly contest. I want to see what the two of you are capable of."

They quickly hung their coats up and stood before Irons, waiting. Irons examined the two of them thoughtfully.

"As I recall, Ian, the last several times that the two of you have fought, your sister has been the victor."

"Yes." Ian nodded faintly.

"Who do you think will win this time?"

"Unless her skills have deteriorated over the years, I must assume that Cailean will."

Irons nodded thoughtfully. "You could afford to learn from her."

"Yes, Master." Ian nodded.

"Cailean, who do _you_ think will win?"

"I am inclined to agree with Ian's assessment, my Master."

"You could afford to learn from Ian, too, I see."

Cailean hesitated. "Yes, my Master."

"You disagree?" Irons asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It is not my place to agree _or_ to disagree, my Master, but to bow to your superior knowledge and experience."

Irons nodded with approval, not sensing the sarcasm in her quiet voice. "You see, Ian?" he asked, not taking his gaze from Cailean. "Tell me about your creation, Cailean."

Cailean hesitated for a split-second before answering, surprised by the question. "I was created by you, out of Ian, my Master."

Irons nodded. "Very good. And do you know what that makes you?"

"A made creature, my Master, less than human."

Irons caught her chin in his hand again and jerked it up, squeezing hard. "_More_ than human, Cailean!" he hissed, angry to hear one of his crowning achievements describe herself as anything other than superior.

"More than human, my Master..." she repeated quietly, dropping her eyes.

Irons let her head drop again, scowling at her. "Tell me about the Witchblade."

"It is Power, my Master, older than mankind itself. It chooses a wielder, marks that person, connects them to itself forever..." She paused, then continued. "It also has a habit of abandoning its wielder in their hour of most dire need."

Irons nodded, apparently satisfied. "What do you know of the Wielder?"

"Her name is Sara Pezzini, my Master, a police detective."

Irons nodded again. "Could you overcome her in hand-to-hand combat?"

Ian glanced up, startled. He caught Irons glaring at him and dropped his head again.

Cailean shook her head. "Not while she wore the Witchblade, my Master."

Irons nodded, pleased to see that her abilities had not made her overconfident. "Very good. Now, let's see how you can fare against your brother." He stepped away from them, moving his armchair closer to the fire and retrieving his glass of sherry. "Proceed." He smiled faintly. "Oh, and children?" They paused, listening attentively. "Do try not to kill each other, hmm?" He smiled absently. "Begin."

Ian and Cailean bowed to Irons and then to each other. Irons sat down and watched curiously. It was always diverting to watch the two fight, to compare the tactics of two individuals who were virtually identical in terms of their genetics and training. But individuals they were, and their tactics when they fought reflected the fact. Cailean, normally so quiet and submissive, became a confident, aggressive creature, undaunted by anything thrown her way. Ian, normally the more confident and meticulous, was confused by his smaller, weaker sister's continuing ability to prevail in these contests, and it made him tentative and, ultimately, sloppy.

Or so Irons thought. Cailean had always seen the matter more clearly. Ian was a warrior, and, like the heroic warriors who had come before him, he had a weakness. His weakness, though, was not pride or cowardice but his own heart. It was hard for Ian to cause harm to those few that he cared about, even during friendly bouts. He had never understood, as Cailean had, that to hold back was to invite punishment. And so Cailean invariably won, sparing both of them from a much greater pain and humiliation. 

Others might not have understood it, but Cailean and Ian truly enjoyed fighting with each other. With, but never against. They so seldom faced truly worthy adversaries that any opportunity to hone their skills against one was welcomed. Their telepathic bond, forged in childhood, perhaps as a result of years of chemical and genetic alterations to their bodies and brains, served to turn combat into something infinitely more intimate than a simple fight. It became an act of Communion for the two.

The bond itself was their one secret from their Master, a private defiance against his early attempts to play them against each other. Failing that, he had isolated them as best as he could, forbidding them even to speak in each other's presence. So they did not speak, but it did not stop them from conversing. It had started as a game for them, but had quickly become a necessity, allowing them to survive a brutal and isolated upbringing more or less emotionally intact.

Even in adulthood, it conferred a certain freedom on them. Neither of them could have been described as having a sense of humor, but in the privacy of their minds, they teased each other in much the same way as any loving siblings would. The context was different, but the emotion behind it was similar.

_You've always said that I have a lovely face, Ian._ Cailean told him as they circled. _Surely you wouldn't want to mar it?_

_Your good looks are safe with me, child._

_I'd say the same, brother, but you have no good looks to spare._

_Sister, you wound me! _Ian laughed mentally.__

No casual observer, even if he had known of their bond, would have guessed at the gentle banter passing between them. As they circled, they eyed each other like hungry predators, waiting for the ideal opportunity to strike.

_I've missed you, Cailean._

Cailean moved in, feinting with her right hand. As Ian's hand bobbed up to block her, she delivered a crushing blow to his abdomen with her stronger left hand, knocking the wind out of him. An experienced boxer, Cailean added the momentum gained from that punch to the follow-through roundhouse she delivered. Ian recovered with more speed than even Cailean would have thought possible, managing to swing his head out of the way and avoiding more than a glancing blow. It would leave a mark, to be sure, but it would not even slow Ian down.

_I've missed you, too, Ian. Afraid I can't say the same for our... employer. _

Instinctively, Cailean's head moved to indicate Irons. She was instantly aware that she had made a mistake, and hurried to correct, managing only to swing her head directly into the back of Ian's opened hand. Her lip split as it connected with his ring, the ring that she had given him before her departure ten years ago.

_Oh, you  kept it! How sweet, Ian._

She could taste her own blood, but refused to be troubled by the fact. The fight had just gotten interesting. She ducked under Ian's jab-hook combination only to find herself on the receiving end of a kick to the chest. She flew backwards under the impact, amazed that no ribs had been broken. As she hopped to her feet, one of her arms, spread for balance, made a glancing contact with a pedestal on which a priceless Ming vase was perched. The pedestal tottered for a few moments but did not fall. The vase was not so lucky.

_I always hated that thing..._ she informed Ian as she circled out of his reach.

Carefully, deliberately, Cailean edged Ian into a corner, closer to a glass display-case full of 'trinkets', rare and priceless pieces from all over the world. She feinted with another punch, and when he threw his arm up to block, she caught it firmly in both hands. Using her weight to counterbalance his own, she threw him into the display-case. As he connected with it, he cried out, tears springing to his eyes.

_Ian, are you okay?_

_Fine. I just got cut by the glass._

Most of those artifacts which were not destroyed when Cailean threw her brother into the case _were_ destroyed when Ian struggled to pull himself to his feet. He managed to free himself from the wreckage with nothing more than a few minor cuts and bruises.

_You know, Cailean, Master always loved those pieces..._ Ian chided gently.

_I know._ Cailean sounded gleeful. _Did you see the look on his face? _

_Yes. It was... enjoyable._

Cailean used the delay caused by Ian's attempts to pull himself from the wreckage of the display case to dodge out of his sight and quickly ascend the stair-case to the sitting-room's upper level. Irons shifted in his chair, growing increasingly disquieted. From his point of view, the fight was turning exceedingly vicious. From the upper level, Cailean observed the look on his face and projected it to her brother so that he could share in her amusement. There was something so satisfying in forcing the man to squirm, even a little, after everything that he had done to them.

Dismissing her amusement as ill-timed, she launched herself, feet first, over the railing, landing directly in front of Ian, who had finally managed to disentangle himself from the remains of the cabinet. She delivered a pair of right jabs, followed by a brutal left uppercut. Ian's head snapped back and he staggered backwards a few steps.

_You're holding back, Ian. Stop it. If he suspects, he'll punish us._

_So make it look convincing._

As Cailean tried to figure out this cryptic remark, Ian delivered a left to her ribcage and a right to her jaw in rapid succession. He could have broken her jaw as easily as, moments before, she could have broken his. Shortly after her first series of genetic enhancements, Cailean had failed to pull one of her punches, leaving Ian with a broken jaw, eating through a straw for almost a month. He could easily have done the same to Cailean, but there was simply no point. Irons was trying to test their skills, not their pain tolerance. Or, rather, not _just_ their pain tolerance.

_That looked like a smile, Ian... Allow me to wipe it off of your formerly pretty face for you before our Master sees it._

_Try not to be so smug, child. You know how he feels about arrogance._ Ian seemed faintly troubled as he sent this message to her.__

Taking advantage of his distraction, Cailean launched herself at Ian with a blinding flurry of kicks and punches. Ian retreated into the corner, blocking as well as he could and managing to land a few blows himself. He found himself pinned in a corner, directly underneath a priceless Monet, and redoubled his defensive barrage against Cailean. Their mingled blood, saliva, and sweat splattered the surface of the canvas, making the water-lily look like something out of a horror-movie.

"_Enough_!" Irons bellowed, half-rising. 

He stared at his beloved painting in shock, then slowly took in the remains of his once-lovely sitting-room, assessing the damage. It was like a sick parody of a MasterCard commercial. _Priceless, priceless, priceless_. He shook his head and sank back into his chair, suddenly remembering why he had long ago restricted their fights to the gymnasium. With shaking hands, he poured himself another glass of sherry. He jumped to his feet again, closing the distance to the corner of the room where the siblings still stood, surveying the room.

"Oops..." Cailean whispered, looking around with affected surprise before bowing her head.

Ian bit his lower lip and quickly assumed his subservient posture, hoping that they would be dismissed soon. His back hurt and he wanted to get some ice on his face before it swelled beyond all recognition. He had forgotten how punishing these 'friendly contests' with his sister could be, even if he _did_ enjoy them.

"What was that?" Irons demanded of Cailean in a hiss, leaning close to her and brandishing a shard of the broken Ming.

"You said..." she began uncertainly.

"You just destroyed better than a million dollars worth of my property, Cailean..." Irons breathed in her ear. "And you didn't even _win_!"

Cailean bowed her head. "I would have, my Master..." she muttered.

Irons backhanded her. "I saw at least one opportunity that you failed to exploit, Cailean. You could easily have finished him when he was tangled in my _display-case_!"

"You said not to kill him, my Master..." Cailean whispered hastily.

Irons forced her head up, staring at her through narrow eyes. "Is that the only reason that you did not seize the opportunity. Because I _said _not to kill him?"

"I am a warrior, my Master. It does not befit a warrior to take a life needlessly or to prey on a helpless opponent."

Irons sneered at her, shaking his head. "I see. So... familial affection played no part?"

"None, my Master. It is not our place to yield to such things."

"You lie better than you used to..." Irons observed quietly. "If I catch you at it again, you will be punished most severely."

Cailean shifted slightly. "Yes, my Master."

"And, now that I have seen that the money I have expended on this aspect of your training has not been wasted, the two of you may go and become reacquainted."

Cailean bowed. "Thank you, my Master."

Ian nodded. "Thank you, Master."

"Go..." Irons ordered. As they back from the room, he frowned thoughtfully. "Ian, stay a moment."

Ian hesitated by the door, frowning. Cailean reached out as she walked behind him to leave, brushing a gloved finger against his hand.

_Be good, Ian_. Cailean closed the door behind her as she left.

_For you, Cailean... _he projected after her. _I will... endeavor._

Ian approached Irons, head bowed. "Yes, Master?"

"When you retrieved your sister today, did you see Sara Pezzini?"

"Briefly."

"How did she look to you? Strong? Healthy?"

"Yes." Ian nodded and added, "Happier as well."

Irons frowned, faintly displeased. "I see." He poured himself another glass of sherry. "And how did your sister react to her?"

"She seemed in awe of Lady Sara. She bowed to her before she left." 

Irons scowled. Cailean simply did not bow to people other than Irons himself. It was completely uncharacteristic. "Did she _say_ anything to her?"

"She professed her innocence."

"Why to Sara? Was it Sara who arrested her?"

"No. She was arrested by another officer, a man. She spoke to no one else, not even the arresting officer." Ian's voice reflected his approval of that decision. There was no reason for her to potentially incriminate herself when Irons could make any pending charges disappear so easily.

"But she chose to talk to Sara?"

Ian hesitated. "Yes."

"Why?" Irons frowned.

Ian half-shrugged, worried that Irons was questioning Cailean's motives. Generally speaking, her behavior was less subject to scrutiny than his own, so this sudden interest worried him. "Perhaps she saw the Witchblade and assumed that the Lady Sara could be trusted. Perhaps she assumed a relationship with you based on the fact that the Lady Sara wore your property on her hand." He hesitated, wondering how to distract his master's attention from Cailean's actions. "She _has_ been remote from recent events."

Irons slapped Ian, angry that he seemed to be questioning his decision to keep Cailean ignorant of recent events with regards to Sara. "I have a reason for _every_ action! Never question me again!"

Ian bowed his head, unmoved by the act of violence. Cailean had made him promise to contain himself, and so he would. It had never been by threats or intimidation that Irons had controlled Ian, and they both knew it. Irons lashed out when frustrated, and Ian had lately been far more frustrating to Irons than ever in the past.

"When you see her again, you will find out why she chose to speak with Sara and you _will_ find out exactly what she told her."

Ian nodded. "Of course."

"Now, tell me again about Sara."

"She seemed well, Master. Less bereft, more comfortable interacting with that partner of hers."

Irons frowned thoughtfully at the phrasing Ian had chosen. "Her partner? McCarty, isn't it? The one who came to see us during the Periculum?"

Ian nodded.

Irons nodded. "And you say she trusts this man?"

"She seems to."

"And do _you_ trust him, Ian?" Irons asked, suspecting from Ian's tone of voice what the answer would be.

"No."

Irons smiled faintly. "Why ever not, Ian?"

"He reeks of secrecy and deception. He is not what he seems or who he claims to be."

"Is that all?"

"He is aware of Lady Sara's role in the Irish Massacre. He holds it in his hands to destroy her, and, beyond a brief silence in that matter, he has given no clear proof of his loyalty to her."

Irons nodded, smiling faintly. Sara's partner could turn out to be more useful than he had anticipated, if only to keep Ian distracted from his plans for Cailean. "Keep watch on this man, Ian. Do not trouble him, but neither should you let him threaten Sara in any way. Report anything you find back to me."

Ian nodded.

"I will also look into this matter myself."

Ian looked up, startled, but quickly dropped his head. The correction was so quick that he doubted that Irons had even noticed the original infraction.

Irons paused thoughtfully. "How did Sara act towards Cailean?"

Ian hesitated. "She seemed... confused."

"Confused? Why?"

"I do not know."

"Find out when you talk to Cailean."

"Of course."

"Do you have anything else to report?"

Ian shook his head. "No."

"How do _you_ feel to see Cailean again, Ian?"

"Pleased."

"Pleased?" Irons repeated quietly.

"Her absence has been... affecting."

"Mmm." Irons nodded thoughtfully, reminding himself to keep a close watch on Ian while he implemented his plans for Cailean. "I'm glad that her return has pleased you, Ian."

"Master?" Ian asked in confusion. Irons seldom expressed any interest at all in the way that Ian felt, except occasional displeasure when Ian presumed to actually _display_ his emotions.

"I had noticed that you have seemed... _discontented_ for some time. I thought that perhaps her presence might quiet you." It was a lie, but perhaps a useful one.

"If I have displeased in any way..." Ian began, recognizing that the seeming concern for his emotional state was actually a veiled threat against Cailean should Ian step out of line again.

"Not at all, Ian!" Irons assured him magnanimously. "Your work is, as always, admirable. I have no complaints whatsoever."

Ian hesitated, not trusting Irons in the least. "Is this why you have called her back, then, Master? Simply for my sake?"

"For both of our sakes." Irons lifted his head up. "I have missed her as well, Ian." He was pleased and amused by the faintly angry expression on Ian's face. "As I am sure she has missed me..." he continued, turning his back to Ian and staring at the fire. He smiled. "I think it's safe to say that we have _both_ been lonelier men without Cailean about. Wouldn't you agree, Ian?"

Ian gritted his teeth. "Yes..." he managed.

Irons smiled more broadly, not turning around. "That is all, Ian. Go, see our lovely Cailean."

"Thank you, Master." Ian bowed and left, clenching his fists at his sides.

Irons watched him go out of the corner of his eye, smiling reflectively. He had been wrong to assume that simple loyalty would always be all that was needed to keep Ian in line. Ian was growing unpredictable, a fact which made him harder to control, and Irons would have been a fool not to have been unsettled by the prospect of an uncontrollable Ian. Cailean's presence, and his fear for her well-being, would be a far superior means of controlling the assassin than simple loyalty to Irons himself could ever be. 

And concern for her brother's welfare would keep Cailean under tighter control as well, if that were needed. Given Ian's recent reactions to Sara, it was easy to foresee Cailean hesitating in the task that he was going to lay on her. Loyalty to, and fear for, Ian would no doubt be all that was required to overcome any moral objections to her assignment.

As he stood in the shattered remains of his sitting-room he marveled that he had not thought of something so simple years ago. Yes, Cailean would be useful to him. In more ways than the ones that he had foreseen when he had recalled her.


	3. Unguarded Moments

**Chapter 3 -- Unguarded Moments**

When Ian left the sitting-room, he was not entirely surprised to find Cailean waiting for him just outside. She was standing in their normal posture, hands behind back, head bowed. She fell in next to Ian as he walked past without a word, following him to the room that had been set aside for her.

Cailean suddenly realized that he was limping. _How badly did I hurt you?_

Ian's mental voice was teasing. _Probably not as badly as I hurt you, little one._

Cailean allowed herself a faint smile at this and followed him into the guest-room. She smiled again as she saw that a thoughtful servant had laid a first-aid kit on the bed-side table. She touched Ian's shoulder and nodded towards it.

"When the titans clash..."

"The heavens tremble." Ian smiled at her and opened the box, looking through the contents.

"Like old times." Cailean smiled and handed him an ice-pack.

_How's your chest, Ian?_

_Painful. You bruised a rib._

_Only one?_

Ian glared at her and started to pull his shirt off, wincing. "Ah..." he groaned, stopping.

"Here, let me help you." Cailean stepped forward and gently helped Ian out of the shirt, frowning when it seemed to catch for no reason. She glanced around his broad shoulders, frowning. 

_Oh, Ian..._ she projected, tears springing to her eyes at the sight of a relatively fresh set of lash marks. More than one of the wounds had reopened during their fight. _You should have told me._

_If I had, you would have held back. He would have punished you. I've grown accustomed to his abuse, but I'm sick of standing by while he hurts you.  _

Cailean stared at him with wide eyes. She blinked rapidly to fight back the tears that threatened. "Sit on the bed." She picked up a tube of antibiotic lotion. "Let me take care of this."

"Like old times..." 

Ian sat on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently as Cailean vanished into the bathroom, returning several minutes later with a basin of warm, soapy water and several clean cloths. She would take care of his injuries and then he would take care of hers. Like old times. 

Cailean sat behind him and began gently bathing the wounds, skillfully washing away the dried and caked blood. "Some of these are infected, Ian..." she remarked quietly as she worked, tenderly running her fingers over the swollen and discolored gashes, disgusted by this brutal assertion of their Master's dominance. It had nothing to do with the infractions themselves. Irons was only reminding Ian who was in control. "You'll want to take something for that."

Ian smiled, grateful for her quiet compassion. Most men would have been ashamed by the marks, by the fact that another controlled him so completely that he could be lashed with impunity. Ian was not ashamed. The lash-marks were simply another of the facts of his life.

As she patted the freshly cleaned wounds dry, she noticed something else. There were two different sets of fresh lash-marks here, both less than two weeks old. There was no point in asking who had ordered him beaten, or even in asking who had wielded the whip. The answer to both was the same. Irons. She asked the only question that mattered.

_Why, Ian?_

_Twice I disobeyed him._ Ian sighed as she began applying the cream. __

Cailean frowned, angry, as she gently dabbed the cream onto his back. Applying the lash a second time, before the wounds from the previous application were fully healed, was _not_ discipline. It was torture. Cailean shook her head in disgust. Honest discipline had never troubled her, but Irons was growing increasingly capricious with Ian. His behavior towards Ian was beginning to mirror many of his previous behaviors towards Cailean herself, and that horrified her for his sake.

Cailean sighed heavily. _I wish you had told me, Ian._

_You would have held back._

_Ian... _Cailean sighed deeply. "Here, let's look at your other injuries now."

"What of your own?"

"They can wait. They aren't pressing." Cailean smiled at him reassuringly, reinforcing the assurance mentally.

Ian nodded and allowed her to tend his other injuries. Cailean and Ian had always taken care of each other, physically as well as mentally. Patching each other's wounds was comforting, and as comfortable and familiar as the conversation that they were secretly carrying on.

_You have such gentle hands. Thank you, Cailean. _

As Cailean probed the extent of his injuries, Ian experienced a fleeting wish that the gentle hands against his chest could have belonged to another woman entirely. An image of Sara gently caressing his chest, with no interest whatsoever in his injuries, sprang to mind, bringing with it a confused flurry of emotions. He pushed the thought aside as quickly as it had sprung into his mind, troubled by it.

Cailean stared up at him curiously, confused by his emotion. _Ian?_

_Forgive me, Cailean._ Ian bowed his head, avoiding her eye. He had no idea where the images had come from. Such a lapse had never occurred before, and it startled and confused him. Besides, he had no right to show her such images after all that she had suffered at the hands of their Master.

Cailean swallowed hard, glancing up at Ian. Although her own mind was quick to read the images in the only context that _she_ could understand, one of fear and dominance, the images as they appeared in Ian's mind seemed right, innocent. She could not begrudge him these desires, even if she would never feel anything similar herself. The knowledge that he was, after all, just a man only increased her love for him. 

_Does our Master know, Ian?_

_No. I do not even admit it to myself except in unguarded moments._

Cailean considered this in silence for several moments. _Then guard yourself well, Ian. Our Master is jealous of our affections, and will not share them lightly, even with Lady Sara._

Ian sighed deeply. _You are right, as always._

_I know my Master._

Ian closed his eyes and bit his lip. _I hate him._

Cailean smiled understandingly. _No, you do not. You may wish you could, but you do not. _She gently ran her fingers over his bruised eye. _You love him, Ian, and it's only right that you should._

Cailean loved their Master as deeply as Ian himself did, as any abused child is likely to love the only parent they have ever had, no matter how cruel or emotionally distant. Except for each other, he was the only person they had ever had.__

Ian sighed, torn between his love for his master and his love for his sister. _But the things he does to you..._

Ian was not adequately experienced in such matters to fully understand the nature of the things that Irons did to Cailean, and Cailean had always carefully guarded the exact nature of the incidences from Ian, but he understood the pain and shame she felt when he held her in his arms afterwards, and he knew that no woman should be forced to feel such things.__

Cailean smiled reassuringly and patted his shoulder. _The things he does to me are his right, Ian. Let us think on lighter things tonight._

Ian bowed his head. _Why has he called you here? Your training has been complete for months yet he has made no move to recall you until now. Why?_

_I don't know. I don't think either of us shall like it, but we will do as we always have. We will serve our Master. No matter what he asks of us._ She grinned at him.

_How can you smile when you say that?_

_You'll see._ Cailean's mental voice was teasing, but also strangely grave.

Ian stared at her, startled and a little worried. _Cailean?_

_I love you, brother._ She abruptly closed her mind to him.

_Cailean?_ Ian demanded, startled by the abrupt discontinuity. _Cailean?_

Cailean ignored him with studied disinterest. He knew she could hear him, but she refused to admit him. Even after their brief time back together, it was a horrible, depressing thing to be alone in his own mind.

_Let me in, Cailean!_ Ian pled, scared by her behavior. The playfulness in her tone before she had shut him out had been ominous.

"All done, Ian. You'll survive, but I think we'd better restrict our sparring to verbal for a few weeks if you want your back to heal up properly." She rose and searched the first-aid kit, doing her best to ignore his mental pleas, although hearing Ian in distress was upsetting for her as well. "Ah, antibiotics." She tossed him the bottle.

Ian caught it instinctively, staring at her in confusion. It was the first time ever that she had refused to admit his thoughts into her mind. She was hiding something from him, and that scared him. The only other thing she had _ever_ hidden from him was her memories of her experiences with Irons.

"Cailean..." he began, rising, forgetting how likely it was that the room was bugged.

"Are you going to help me or not, brother? I think I broke a finger with that first punch I landed." Cailean eyed him warningly and jerked her eyes in the direction of the mirror. The most likely location of the camera.

Ian shook his head and nodded towards the bed. He carried the first-aid kit with him to the bed and sat down next to Cailean. It was no ordinary first-aid kit. In addition to bandages and antibiotic cream, it contained a wide array of drugs, from aspirin to antibiotics to morphine, and a minor array of surgical supplies, including sutures. Which was just as well, Ian observed, since Cailean's mouth was definitely going to need a few stitches.

He examined her hand first, wrapping and splinting the finger. "Boxer's fracture. You'll be signing checks with your right hand for a while."

She rolled her eyes. "Wonderful."

"Painkiller?"

She shook her head. "Not right now, I think."

Ian nodded and turned his attention to her lip.

_Ah..._ she hissed mentally as he touched it.

_Sorry. Talking to me again?_

Cailean ignored this. _How many stitches?_

_Just one or two. For a big, brave girl like you, that shouldn't be a problem._ His voice was teasing, loving.__

Ian picked up the sutures and expertly stitched her split lip before turning his attention to her other injuries. They had both come out of it less damaged than the sitting-room, but neither of them would be back up to full strength for some time. It was better than some of their previous matches, though. Once they had pummeled each other for better than an hour before Ian had passed out from exhaustion. Cailean, although she had been hurt far worse than Ian, had won by default.

This time, the damage was more evenly distributed between the two. The matched set would remain matched.

"That bruise is going to hurt you for some time..." Ian's voice was gentle as he ran his fingers over the livid area on her torso.

She nodded. "It's not the worst you've ever given me." She squeezed his shoulder, smiling.

_I've missed you, Ian. It's good to have a Friendly around._

_A Friendly? _Ian smiled. _You talk like a soldier, baby sister._

_Ex-soldier, Ian... _Cailean reminded him.She smiled and winked. _Now I'm just a harmless little debutante._

_Harmless?_ Ian rubbed his black eye and regarded her wryly. _Right._

Cailean smiled and rose, extending her hands to Ian. "Do you dance much any more, Ian?"

He shook his head regretfully. "I've been at something of a loss for partners since your departure, Cailean." He smiled in fond remembrance.

"Well, then, let us remedy that. Dance with me, Ian." She smiled up at him.

_It's been too long, baby sister. _ He wrapped his arms around her.__

She smiled and leaned into his arms, careful not to touch his back as she slid her own arms around him. There was no longer any need for words, spoken aloud or mentally. Ian and Cailean were just glad to see each other and to be able to share a simple, happy moment in time. 

Irons watched the two dancing over the security monitor with a frown. He would have expected, after ten years of separation, that the two would have had much to talk about. In fact, he had been counting on it. Instead, they limited what few remarks they did make to the injuries that they had inflicted on each other. He shook his head thoughtfully. Perhaps the bond between them was not as strong as he had thought. Perhaps, after having almost given up, he had finally managed to help them master their emotions. Cailean, fresh from her own training, seemed far more amenable to that aspect of it than Ian had been, and now he seemed to be taking his cues in that regard from her. That was good news.

Irons smiled to himself and leaned back into his chair, placing his feet on the desk. He stared at Ian and Cailean dancing and smiled. Not many could have so utterly dominated two such creatures as these. His creations were lethal, yes, but loyal as well. And completely under his control.

"Life _is_ good..." he muttered languidly, his smile widening. 

It never even occurred to him that there might have been more going on in the room then he had seen and heard via the monitor. This was their silent victory over him. He had monitored their every private moment for their entire lives, and he did not know them at all.


	4. Understandings

**Chapter 4 -- Understandings**

Sara was, by now, growing quite accustomed to visiting the Irons estate, but she was nonetheless, annoyed at being summoned there like another one of his faithful lackeys. 

"This way, Detective..." Ian muttered, leading Sara through the now familiar hallways of the Irons estate without looking at her or even turning in her direction. He was surprised to see her there, but did not let it show. His hair was down, hanging in his face, but he made no move to brush it aside or pull it back. When he walked, Sara noticed that it was gingerly, and with a slight limp, as though he had hurt himself somehow.

Sara followed, hoping that Cailean would be with Irons, wanting an opportunity to speak with her. "Will your sister be there?"

Ian shrugged, amused by Sara's interest in Cailean, but wishing that some of her interest might be directed his way for once. "I believe she is with my Master, yes." As they walked he asked, "Will the man be okay? The one who was shot yesterday?"

"You care?" Sara asked, surprised.

Ian shook his head absently. "No, but Cailean does."

"Oh..." Sara frowned, surprised by the admission that he did not care one way or the other about the man. She would have thought him _slightly_ more compassionate than that, even if the man was nothing to him. Still, he cared enough about his sister to inquire on her behalf, which said _something _for him. "Um, yeah, he's going to make it."

"His name? She's curious."

"Bailey. Robert Bailey."

"Thank you." He pulled opened the doors to the sitting-room and led Sara in.

"Oh... kay..." Sara breathed, looking around the shattered sitting-room with wide eyes. What the hell had happened here? Looking at the normally pristine sitting-room in its present state was an almost surreal experience, like walking into a dream, especially given the fact that no one else in the room seemed to notice the mess.

Irons stood near the fire, being measured by a tailor, looking as calm and unruffled as if his sitting-room was in the same impeccable condition as always. Cailean knelt at his feet with her back to the door, staring at the ground with her hands clasped behind her back, speaking quietly. Sara immediately noticed that her left hand was in a splint of some kind. 

"In good conscience, my Master, I can _not_ recommend the blue tie. It simply does not compliment your complexion." She paused, tilting her head. Without looking up or turning around, she said, "Good morning, Detective Pezzini."

Ian frowned, wondering how Cailean had known that Sara was with him when he had not told her or even announced his own presence to her. He stole a cautious glance at Sara who seemed not to have noticed.

"Ah, fair Sara!" Irons greeted her cheerfully, looking up. 

He jerked his hand at Cailean, who immediately leapt to her feet and moved to stand to his left and slightly behind him. With a respectful nod to Sara, Ian joined Cailean behind Irons, stepping carefully around glass and pottery shards. The tailor continued taking his measurements, studiously ignoring everything that went on around him. He knew that Irons was an eccentric old man with a very odd home-life and a parade of bizarre visitors running through his house, but his money was good.

Sara stared at the remains of the blue and white vase at her feet. "Redecorating, Irons?" she asked casually, toeing a large shard of porcelain. 

The tailor bit his lip to hide a grin.

"Mmm..." Irons shrugged, his smile wavering. Sara had arrived earlier than he had anticipated or he would have met her in his office instead of the shattered room. In his office, the illusion of absolute control could have been maintained. Here, it wavered.

"You know, Irons, I hate to criticize your domestic policies, but I think you've been going a little too easy on the maid..."

"The cleaning service doesn't arrive until eight. Needless to say, such a mess is a little beyond the scope of my normal housekeeping staff..." Irons said, forcing an absent smile.

Sara glanced at what was left of the display-case. "Of course, I hear that the, um, distressed look is... popular this year..." 

Irons managed a forced laugh. "Call it... sibling rivalry."

Sara stared at him in surprise. Behind him, Ian and Cailean looked up and grinned at each other like naughty children before resuming their normal posture. Sara found the grins faintly unsettling coming from a pair of assassins. She also noticed that both of their faces bore a number of large and fresh bruises.

"I, uh... notice that _they_ didn't exactly escape unscathed."

"Yes, well..." Irons shrugged again. "These things will happen." After a brief pause, he asked, "So, what brings you here this fine morning, Sara?"

"I'm returning Cailean's property, but then, I assume you already knew that since you're the one who asked Dante to send me." Sara frowned at this. Being forced to run errands for Dante was bad enough without throwing Irons and his hidden motives into the mix.

Irons shrugged helplessly. "Found out." He glanced down at the tailor who was measuring his inseam. "Come back later."

Sara sniggered, a dozen different jokes and quips running through her mind. Still, he did an admirable job of remaining cool and collected given how close the other man's hands and face were to his crotch. _Years of practice?_ She smiled and lowered her head.

"But, sir..." the tailor began, knowing that this was going to throw off his entire schedule. Typical.

"Little sensitive, Irons?" Sara asked casually. "Don't worry, I hear lots of guys are ticklish there..."

"_Later_..." Irons repeated firmly to the tailor, snorting impatiently and ignoring Sara's comment. "Ian, see him out. Make another appointment."

Ian hesitated for a second before leading the tailor from the room, hesitant as always to leave Sara alone with Irons. He reminded himself that Cailean was there and gestured for the tailor to follow him. He nodded politely to Sara as he pulled the door open, using the excuse to linger near her for a moment before leaving.

"You know, I didn't mean to interrupt. I can just... go. Let you get back to your fitting."

Irons shook his head. "That won't be necessary."

"It's not like I can stay long anyway..." Sara said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the gun.

At a snap from Irons, Cailean stepped forward and took it from her. "Thank you, Lady Sara..." she muttered before stepping away and resuming her post behind Irons. Irons observed the exchange expressionlessly.

He smiled at Sara. "Can I offer you a drink, Detective? Sherry?"

She shook her head, wondering if he even realized that it was eight in the morning. "No. I can't..."

He nodded. "Of course, my mistake. You're on duty."

Sara nodded. "Um, yeah."

Irons smiled at her. "Well, perhaps you would care to return later, then?"

"Later?" Sara asked, frowning uncertainly. Irons always made her uncomfortable, especially when he acted friendly. "Uh, let me get back to you on that one, okay." _I'll have my people call your people._

Ian returned to the room and moved to rejoin Cailean.

_Is she not everything he said she would be? _he asked her.

_Everything and more, Ian._

Ian smiled at her, confident that Irons would not see. _The man you found, his name is Bailey. She says that he's going to be just fine._

_Thank you, Ian._

Irons smiled and moved closer to Sara. A piece of glass crunched under his feet. "I'm having a small welcome-home party for our Cailean this evening. You would be most welcomed."

Cailean and Ian glanced up at each other in alarm, Sara observed. Cailean looked resigned, but Ian looked anxious and uncomfortable. Sara could not blame him. She was not a fan of formal gatherings herself.

Irons ushered her farther into the sitting-room, offering her a seat. Without stopping to see if she would take it, he moved to stand next to Cailean, wrapping an arm around her waist. Ian glared at him with a murderous expression. Sara would not have been completely surprised if Ian had chosen that opportunity to rush Irons and break his neck. He looked outraged. Sara, who had never seen him express any emotion at all, was startled and wondered what she was missing. 

Irons was enjoying the contact, but Cailean clearly was not. She tensed slightly in his grip before relaxing. Her eyes went blank so rapidly that Sara realized that she was used to unwanted physical contact from Irons. That would explain Ian's anger.

Although Ian did not open his mouth, Sara quite clearly heard his voice in her head. _Get your goddamned hands off of her!_

Cailean assumed much the same expression as a deer confronted by a car's headlights, but she quickly composed herself and glanced quickly over her shoulder at Ian. He stared at her for a moment before resuming his normal, subservient posture. Sara stared in confusion. Something had clearly passed between the two.

_That was so loud that I would be surprised if Lady Sara did not hear you, Ian..._Cailean chastised gently.__

_Forgive me. I was frustrated. I lost my composure._

_I noticed. Guard yourself._

"Will you come?" Irons asked, oblivious to the interaction.

Sara stared at him uncertainly. Somehow, Irons had not heard Ian. Could _she_ have really heard him? In her head like that? No, she must have been imagining it, projecting her own distaste at the display in some way. "Um... I don't..." 

She glanced at the blood-covered Monet and had a series of visions of Ian and Cailean fighting as Irons looked on, at his insistence. In some of the visions, they were as she had seen them yesterday. In others, they were little more than children. In a handful of the visions, they were in the sitting-room. In the rest, they were in a gym or boxing-ring. Always, though, they fought at the insistence of Irons and until he allowed them to stop. She shook her head to dispel the image, troubled by the casual brutality of it.

"Please, Detective. I insist. Call it a... thank you for your kind treatment of Cailean at your precinct house yesterday." Irons smiled at her. "I insist..." he repeated, smiling. "We'll see you this evening. Ian, kindly see the Detective out."

Ian nodded and left Cailean's side. "This way, please, Detective."

Sara followed him out. As Ian held the door opened for her, she hesitated. "Look at me, Nottingham..." she ordered.

Startled, he looked up.

Sara examined his black eye thoughtfully. She started to reach up to touch the bruise, but caught herself and dropped her hand, deciding that, if his sister were any indication, Nottingham might not welcome the contact. "Nice. How'd Cailean fare?"

Ian noticed Sara's aborted effort to touch him, but was not surprised by it. Few women would willingly have touched him. There was no reason to suppose Sara was any different in that respect. "Her injuries are more visible, but she caused me somewhat more damage."

Sara frowned. She simply could not see Nottingham striking a woman, especially Cailean, whom he obviously cared for. "Nottingham, what _really_ made you decide to beat the crap out of each other and take the furniture with you?" she asked to confirm the feel the visions had given her.

"Our Master told us to fight. We fought. We so seldom have the opportunity to fight equals that I'm afraid we tend to get somewhat... overzealous." 

She received another brief vision of two children fighting. The fight looked vicious, but she could hear young laughter and see the smiles on their faces. Well, now she knew what he did for fun, at least.

"The sitting-room suffered some... collateral damage..." Ian continued, staring at the ground and trying not to show his amusement over the fact.

Sara frowned uncertainly. "Collateral damage?" she repeated, shaking her head in amazement. They had actually _enjoyed_ trashing the sitting-room. She puzzled over this for a few minutes before it occurred to her that this might well be the only way in which the two could retaliate against Irons for his cruelty without having to fear retribution. "Collateral damage..." she repeating knowingly, giving Ian a conspiratorial grin.

"Yes, Detective."  He nodded, smiling shyly. After a brief pause, he said quietly, "I look forward to seeing you tonight."

Sara frowned, surprised by the forward nature of the statement. Definitely _not_ like Ian Nottingham. "I didn't say I was coming."

Ian nodded, doing his best to hide the disappointment he unaccountably felt. Although he worried over his master's motives in inviting Sara, he found himself very much wanting to see her again. Of course, he could hardly expect the feeling to be mutual. "Of course not. I will convey your excuses to Cailean... She had very much wished to speak with you again."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Ian nodded. Fortunately for him, it happened to be true. "Very much so."

Sara nodded. "I'll see you tonight, Nottingham."

He allowed himself a faint smile. "I look forward to it, Detective..." he muttered, hardly believing his own daring. Cailean's enthusiasm for life was becoming infectious. He would have to take her advice and guard himself more carefully.

"Um... yeah." Sara nodded and quickly left.

***

"Nope, I don't know _when _Sara's going to get here..." Jake told the young man again, shaking his head in irritation. "Look, why don't you just leave a message, Mr. Bowman..."

The young man smiled apologetically at Jake and leaned against the door-frame, glancing around nervously. He _hated_ being around all these cops, especially after having spent the previous evening talking to his client Jim-the-conspiracy-nut Smith-of-course-that's-my-real-name. Although he trusted Sara implicitly, he felt less comfortable about her partner, and even more unsure about the other cops around. It was not so much that he expected to get a night-stick in the back of his knees, just that Sara did not seem to get along with any of them and she was a great judge of character.

Sara walked into the office. "I've got him, Jake."

He looked up, surprised. "Oh, hey, Sara. Where you been?" He nodded a greeting.

"Hey Jake." Sara nodded back. "Hey, Gabriel."

"Sara. You got a minute?" Gabriel asked, immediately feeling more comfortable now that Sara was around.

She nodded.

Jake half-rose. "Where were you, Sara?" he asked, frustrated. "I'm up to my elbows in paperwork here, Pez..."

"I was running an errand for Dante." Sara made a face. "Sorry. I thought I'd be back before you got here." She looked at Gabriel. "What's up?"

"Business." He nodded discretely in the direction of her right wrist.

Sara nodded. "For that, I've got a minute." She followed him from the office.

"Pez, what about the paperwork?" Jake asked insistently.

"I'll finish it over lunch, Jake. Just put it on my desk." She took Gabriel by the arm and led him out of the office.

"Business?" Jake muttered. He shook his head as he watched them go. Sara Pezzini definitely had some _strange_ friends. As if Ian Nottingham was not bad enough news. Any kid that nervous _had_ to be strung out on something. And those clothes! Did the kid even realize that the seventies were over? "Strange friends..." he muttered, shaking his head again and transferring a pile of paperwork onto Sara's desk.

"What you got for me, Gabriel?" Sara asked as they walked through the hallways of the precinct.

"Right now, nothing. But, rumor has it that Elizabeth Bronte kept a diary for a couple of years after the war. I'm thinking that there could be some sweet information in it about you know what. It's _supposed_ to be in the British War Museum, but the story goes that they won't put it on display because they're afraid it would make her look crazy. I could probably get my hands on it long enough to make copies. You want I should try?"

Sara smiled and nodded. "Yeah. If you can. If nothing else, it'll have some sentimental value."

"Cool. I'll see what I can do." Gabriel grinned at her and turned to leave.

"Gabe..." Sara said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Question."

He turned around, nodding. "Sure, Sara. Shoot." He grinned and winked at her.

Smiling at his sick sense of humor, Sara leaned closer to him and lowered her voice. "They brought this woman in yesterday, Gabriel, a suspect. Thing is, I've been having these visions of her for a couple of days. Since _before_ they brought her in."

Gabriel frowned. "From the Witchblade?"

She nodded. "Yeah, looks that way. I'm seeing her in all these different time-periods..."

Gabriel frowned. "What's she doing?"

Sara shrugged. "I can't tell. The visions are too quick and... confused."

Gabriel nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "And it's always this same woman?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"What do you know about theories of reincarnation?"

"Very little."

Gabriel nodded and shrugged. "Okay. Well, it's like this. Some people think that we reincarnate into different life-forms depending on what we've done or learned in the life before. So, if you're good or have learned a lot, you might end up as a well-off or very wise human, but if you're bad, you might end up as a cockroach or a laboratory rat or something nasty like that."

Sara nodded. It sounded vaguely familiar, even if she could not see what it had to do with anything.

"Well," Gabriel continued, "there's another theory that humans are always going to come back as humans. And some people expand on _that_ theory by saying that not only do humans always come back as humans, but that they always come back in the same patterns."

Sara shook her head. "You've lost me, Gabriel."

"The roles people play in regards to each other are always the same. Friends are always friends. Relatives are always relatives. Lovers are always lovers. That obnoxious jerk who taught your high-school biology class is always the person trying to stamp out your love of learning." Gabriel smiled again. "You follow."

Sara nodded. "Yeah. Think so."

"Good. Now, going with that theory, I would have to say that, if you're always the Wielder, maybe other people around you have always had the same pre-designated roles as well. You know, you're always the Wielder, Conchabar is always your doomed boyfriend, and the handsome and dashing Gabriel is always your go-to guy..." He grinned at her.

Sara smiled back. "Is that possible, Gabriel?"

Gabriel shrugged and indicated the Witchblade. "You tell me. What'd this woman do, anyway?"

"She was brought in for attempted murder, but she actually saved the man's life."

He nodded. "Look, if you can give me a description of her, I'll see if I can dig up some pictorial evidence of her existence in your previous lives. Maybe it'll help... nail down her role in all of this."

"I can do better than a description. How's a copy of her mug-shot sound?"

"Better than a description." Gabriel followed her to the file-room where the mug-shots were kept. "Look, Sara," he said as she made a copy of the picture "you're in a much better position than I am to figure out what's up with this woman. You've got the Witchblade. Use it."

"I told you, I can't make sense of the visions." Sara handed him the copy.

"Maybe you can learn to. You get the visions for a reason, you know."

"I know." Sara nodded. "You see what you can do, I'll see what I can do." She wondered if this could actually work. Hopefully, now that she had passed the Periculum, she would have more control over the powers of the Witchblade, but she placed more faith in Gabriel's ability to dig up obscure information than in her own ability to make sense of the visions.

He nodded. "Cool. And I'll get back to you when I know some more about the journal?"

Sara nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Gabriel." She grinned at him. "I'll see you around."

He grinned and nodded. "Yeah. Bye, Pez."

Sara walked back to the office, wondering how she was going to go about making sense of the visions. Or if she could at all. "I'll bet Danny could help me..." she muttered.

"What was that all about?" Jake asked her as she entered the office.

"Business." 

"What kind of business."

"_Personal_ business, Jake." 

"Wasn't he the shrunken-head guy from the Isaac Sullivan case?" Jake asked. "Didn't know you were into shrunken heads, Pez."

"It was mummified, not shrunken, Jake." Sara sat down. "Kid's an antique dealer."

"Right." Jake shrugged. "Oh, hey, I put out some feelers on Cailean yesterday. You want to hear what I found out?"

"Love to." Sara nodded and leaned across the desk.

"Well, the first thing that I found out is that her last name's not Nottingham."

"So, they aren't related after all?"

Jake shook his head. "Oh, they're related alright. Brother and sister, just like he said."

Sara frowned thoughtfully. "So, what's her last name, then?"

"Irons. Cailean _Irons_."

"_Irons_?" Sara repeated, frowning.

Jake nodded. "She had it legally changed when Kenneth Irons adopted her ten years ago. He made her his heir at the same time."

"His heir?"

Jake nodded. "She stands to inherit _everything_. Vorschlag Industries, the money, the TV station, the biotech, the real-estate, the art-work, a couple of diamond-mines... all of it."

"Wow." Sara nodded. "Nottingham?"

"Not mentioned in the will. The sister gets it all."

So, that was what Irons meant by sibling rivalry. She wondered if he was intentionally trying to drive a wedge between them. It was not unlikely. "Impressive."

Jake nodded. "My guess is that she's sleeping with him."

Sara rubbed her forehead as she experienced a brief and unpleasant vision of Irons shoving Cailean onto a bed. "What else, Jake?" she asked, sighing and banishing the vision. Some things she did not need to see before breakfast. Or ever. She shivered. She might have dispelled the vision, but she would probably never be able to shake the memory. Her respect for Irons reached new lows.

"Um... ex-Marine."

"She was in the Marines?" Sara asked, trying to reconcile the image of the almost painfully skinny woman she had seen with the tough-guy Marine persona.

Jake nodded and handed her a folder. "Routinely outperformed her male corps-mates." He paused, frowning. "Did I say routinely? I meant _always_." He glanced down at a piece of paper in his hands. "Um, she was in just under two years, medical discharge."

"For what?"

"Epilepsy."

"Epilepsy?" Sara frowned. "She got into the Marines with epilepsy?"

Jake shook his head. "The records call it the result of medical procedures performed during her service. The, um, dates correspond with her brother's membership in the Black Dragons. It's a bit of a jump, but it's possible that she underwent a lot of the same training and drug therapy."

Sara nodded. It made more sense than Jake thought. "Yeah. Vicky Po, you know, the ME, suggested that Nottingham probably has the same problem. Seizures when exposed to strobing light."

Jake nodded. "Right, I think I remember that."

"What else?" Sara asked.

"Um, over the past ten years, she's trained at some of the finest finishing-schools, Dojos, and paramilitary academies in the world. Also law school and business-school. Spent two years in Japan for no reason that anyone can find, which is actually a pretty common denominator. No one seems to know _what_ she's been up to half the time for the past ten years."

Sara nodded and leafed through the information that Jake had thrown together. It was an impressive collection. He might have been a rookie, but he was better than most seasoned pros at pulling information together on short notice. She was too concerned at the moment with Cailean to worry about how. "That's in keeping. Irons tends to be pretty secretive. You can bet a lot of it wasn't completely on the up-and-up..."

Jake nodded. "Yeah, but getting anything solid on her is going to be pretty hard. You want me to dig deeper?"

Sara considered, staring at the papers in her hand. "Um, that's okay, Jake. You're right. It's going to be hard to get anything solid on her. Thanks, though." She smiled absently at him, hoping that he would not dig farther. She _might_ be able to get away with nosing into the personal affairs of Ken Irons, but she doubted if he would tolerate anyone else doing it for long. Jake might conveniently 'disappear' at the hands of Ian Nottingham if he kept digging.

Jake, who had been thinking much the same thing, nodded, relieved. Irons might have had an irreproachable reputation, but Nottingham did not. Digging too deep could land both of them in serious trouble. "No problem. All of this was a matter of public record, anyway."

Sara nodded. "Thanks, Jake."

"Are we pursuing this, Pez?" Jake asked, knowing that Sara had a habit of digging into some matters farther than was healthy and wondering how to dissuade her.

Sara shook her head slowly. "Um, not yet. Ask me again in a day or two..."

Surprised, but not displease, Jake nodded and reminded himself never to mention it to Sara again.

*** 

Between the horribly long day Sara had put in at work and a growing sense of disquiet, she returned home fully intending to skip the party. Irons, it seemed, had other plans. A woman in a chauffeur's uniform stood at the door of her apartment when she arrived, holding a large box.

"Who're you?"

"Detective Pezzini?" the woman asked, ignoring the question. "Mr. Irons asked me to deliver this to you and then bring you to the party."

Sara unlocked the door and then took the box from her, nodding for her to come inside. 

"Oh, I forgot." She handed Sara a note.

Sara glanced down at it. The note was short, two words to be exact. _I insist_. She shook her head and carried the box into the apartment. Typical Irons. She knew him too well to be offended. It was just the way he was. He believed in going after the things he wanted, which, to her increasing annoyance, seemed to include Sara herself. She could only hope that his interest was genuinely limited to the Witchblade.

"Come in..." she sighed, carrying the box into her bedroom. "Just make yourself comfortable!" she called. "I'll be out in a minute." 

She dropped the box on her bed and opened it. An off-red, sleeveless gown lay inside. She brushed her hands over the silky fabric, frowning thoughtfully, wondering if Irons had picked it because it exactly matched the shade of red in the stone on the Witchblade. She picked the dress up and stood in front of the mirror with it. She experienced a brief vision of Ian and Cailean in an upscale boutique, examining dresses.

Shrugging, and reminding herself that she still wanted to talk to Cailean, she changed into the dress, which fit her perfectly. She examined herself in the mirror for a moment, feeling as ridiculous as she was sure that she looked.

"Looking good, Sara..."

She turned around, startled. "Danny?" She frowned. "How long have you been there?"

He shrugged. "Don't worry. I, um, turned around when you were changing." He gave her a teasing smile.

"Hmm..." Sara stared at him thoughtfully, not believing for a moment that Danny would have looked in on her changing. "I see dead people, you get to see naked people?"

Danny smiled innocently. "Nice dress, Sara."

Sara shook her head and wondered what she was going to wear on her feet. She looked into the box and pulled out a pair of matching shoes. She sat down and slid them onto her feet. Not surprisingly, they also fit perfectly. "I'll give Irons this, he does know how to get a woman's attention." She stared into the mirror again. "What should I do with my hair, Danny?"

"Wear it down..." Danny suggested, smiling. "Can I come?"

"What?" Sara turned around, grinning in surprise. Danny _never_ hung around for more than a few seconds.

"Do you mind the company?" Danny smiled at her. "I know that you hate these formal things. Couldn't hurt to have a friendly face around."

Sara picked up her hairbrush and stared at him with a confused smile. "What's up with you, Danny?"

He shrugged, trying to look innocent.

"Oh, don't give me that, Danny. I know you better. You _know_ I can see right through you."

Danny let out a startled yelp and glanced down at himself with feigned embarrassment.

"Come on, Danny. What's going on."

"Maybe I just want to spend a quiet evening with my partner." He smiled at her. "Come on, Sara. I just like keeping an eye on you." He paused, his smile wavering. "I'm not the only one, you know."

Sara frowned, then nodded. "Ian Nottingham."

Danny nodded. "You know?"

She nodded. "He's been stalking me since I found this thing. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if he's been stalking me _before_ I found it."

Danny nodded. "Just so you know."

Sara smiled at him. "You want to come, Danny, you can come. But I _can_ take care of myself. Compared to some of the stuff I've seen in the past year, a dress-ball is going to be the least of my worries." She grinned.

"Sara, I've _seen_ you try to walk in heels. Shoot-outs are minor in comparison."

Sara laughed. "It's not a big deal, Danny. It's a social gathering. Perfectly safe and harmless."

"Depends on who's there." From his voice, Danny was clearly worried.

"Who don't you trust, Danny?" Sara asked, frowning. "Nottingham or Irons?"

Danny answered without hesitation. "Irons."

Sara  nodded and finished brushing her hair. "I'm way ahead of you on that one, partner. I haven't trusted _him_ since the word go." She looked at herself in the mirror once more. "Ready?" When she turned around, Danny was no longer wearing his turtleneck, but, for some bizarre reason, a velvet smoking-jacket. "Looking good..." she muttered, grinning. 

Danny smiled. "Wouldn't want to be underdressed."

Sara smiled, glad that he was coming. Dead or not, he remained her partner and best friend, and his presence was comforting and reassuring.

***

Sara was escorted to the lounge where the party was being held by a Vorschlag Industries security guard. With Ian and Cailean attending the party, the house was being guarded by a number of guards from the office. Sara had never been inside this lounge before, but it was in keeping with the rest of the home: classy, well-appointed, and just short of ostentatious. It was on the third story of the home, and somewhat larger than the sitting-room, which was just as well considering that it now housed almost fifty people. His version of a 'small' welcome-home party, obviously. Sara absently wondered how many people in the room Cailean actually knew.

Contemporary jazz poured from unseen speakers, and waiters circulated with trays full of drinks and various types of food. There was not a dress or suit in the room worth less than two months of her salary. Irons was standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a small knot of young women. She recognized several faces: talking heads from VCN, members of the fortune 500, local businessmen and political leaders. Cailean and Ian stood by themselves near a window, quietly talking to each other with bowed heads and generally ignoring everyone else in the room.  Sara looked around uncertainly for a moment before entering. 

She felt like Cinderella five seconds after midnight, only a _lot_ more out of place. A handful of men and women had noticed her entrance and were staring at her. She knew exactly what they were thinking, too. _You don't belong here._

Danny shook his head. "Personally, I wouldn't be caught dead at one of these

Sara shook her head, glad for his quiet presence to comfort her. "Come on, Danny..." she muttered. "Like I'm out of place enough already without laughing at your jokes and talking to you." 

"You mean like you are now?" Danny grinned. "Hey, would you mind requesting something by the Grateful Dead?"

Sara ignored him. She noticed that Cailean and Ian had stopped talking and were looking curiously in her direction. She frowned self-consciously, wondering what was wrong with her appearance. She grew immediately annoyed with herself, since she _never_ got worked up over her appearance. Cailean muttered something to Ian and nodded in Sara's direction. It took Sara a moment to realize that Cailean was indicating something behind her. She turned around curiously, wondering what they were looking at.

"What, do I have something stuck in my teeth?" Danny asked, grinning self-consciously.

"No. They just know a dead-beat party-crasher when they see one..." Sara muttered, shaking her head. "What are they looking at?"

He shrugged.

Sighing, she started across the room to join Ian and Cailean as the only two people at the party that she 'knew'. Irons spotted her and moved to intercept her.

"Ah, so good of you to come, Detective!" He smiled cheerfully at her and took her arm, walking with her towards Ian and Cailean. "Your dress is quite lovely. I must say that I _love_ that color on you."

"Thanks." Sara smiled politely, ignoring what was obviously a reference to the Witchblade and the fact that Danny was giving Irons a dirty look. "Did you pick it out?"

Irons shook his head regretfully. "Ian, I'm told."

"Really?" Sara asked, wondering how she could get his hands off of her arm without seeming rude. She fleetingly wondered how a man could be so personable and attractive yet still leave her feeling almost unclean every time he touched her. She was grateful that Danny was close by. 

She glanced at Ian and Cailean. They remained where they were, but were obviously waiting for Sara and Irons to join them. She wondered fleetingly how Ian had known her size, but after all this time, it was hardly surprising that he knew everything about her. She had given up wondering about that after he had stocked her kitchen the day before the Periculum.

He nodded. "They both have impeccable taste. They clean up well, too." He nodded in their direction with obvious pride in his creations.

Sara looked at Ian and Cailean and silently agreed with his assessment. In spite of her bruises and split lip, Cailean looked stunningly attractive in her cream-colored, off-the-shoulder gown with matching elbow-length gloves. Sara had not noticed before how tall she was, almost as tall as Ian. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun and she carried herself like a queen. Not a trace of the woman that Sara had spoken to at the police station the previous day remained. She was calm and controlled and seemed completely in her element.

Danny thought that, if it had not been for the bruises, she would have looked like Audrey Hepburn in the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Ian looked slightly less comfortable, but no less attractive in his black suit. His hair was pulled cleanly back, and his beard and moustache had been trimmed so that he no longer appeared at all scruffy. The overall difference between the Ian Nottingham standing before her and the Ian Nottingham that she usually interacted with was a little startling, if not entirely unpleasant. She wondered why she had never before noticed that he really was quite attractive. He regarded Sara with wide eyes for a moment before dropping his head. She was simply too beautiful to look at.

_Ian..._ Cailean reminded him gently. _Party manners. Head up, eyes forward._

Ian looked up at Sara and bowed politely before straightening. He could not quite bring himself to look Sara in the eye, but he smiled and nodded politely. "Good evening, Detective..." he said quietly. He hoped that he would be allowed to fade into the shadows soon. He _hated_ parties, and could sense that she seemed to as well. It was faintly reassuring. 

"Hey, Nottingham." Sara smiled at him, sensing his discomfort and sympathizing with it.

Cailean smiled at Sara, silently approving Ian's composure. She extended her hand, ready to play the role of hostess, as her master required her to. "It's lovely to see you again, Detective, especially under such vastly improved circumstances."

Ian nodded in hesitant agreement. "Yes..."

Sara nodded and shook Cailean's hand. "It's good to see both of you again as well. You, too, Mister Irons."

"Please, fair Sara, Kenneth. For tonight at least."

From behind Ian and Cailean, Danny shoved his index-finger into his mouth. He winked at Sara and rolled his eyes.

Sara nodded, biting her lip. "Kenneth..." she said slowly, disliking the way the word felt as it came out of her mouth. And had he actually just called her 'fair Sara'? Freak.

_Ian, would you like to speak to her? Dance with her?_

_With Lady Sara? Here?_ Ian could feel his heart beating faster, even though he very much wished to be able to speak privately to Sara, about anything at all. The thought of dancing with her was equally appealing, but also frightening. His palms were sweating and his heart racing. Dancing with Cailean in private, even in public, was one thing. Dancing with any other woman, and especially with Sara, was another entirely. He would be lucky not to pass out or otherwise make a fool of himself.__

_Be calm..._ Cailean murmured reassuringly. _You are a fine dancer. And on the dance-floor, all are equal._

_I'll do my best to remember that, Cailean. Thank you for this opportunity. I think..._

_Do not think that I will not expect a favor in kind later on, big brother._ Smiling at Irons, Cailean lightly touched his arm. "Would you care to dance, my Master?" she asked sweetly, smiling up at him.

Irons stared at her in genuine surprise. "Very much, my dear. If you'll excuse us, Detective..." He smiled at Sara and took Cailean's hand, leading her towards the dance-floor.

As Cailean and Irons walked by, Cailean smiled at Ian and Sara. "You know, Ian, it would be impolite not to offer the lady at least one dance."

Irons watched, amused by Ian's obvious discomfort. He smiled malevolently. "Yes, Ian. Why don't you invite fair Sara to dance?" With that, he escorted Cailean onto the dance floor, smiling smugly. 

Ian turned to face Sara, drawing a very deep breath. Slowly, he extended his hand. "Detective, would you care to dance?" he asked softly, half expecting her to reject him.

"Long-haired bad boys, Sara…" Danny muttered. Sara ignored him. 

Comforted by the fact that he was as uncomfortable as he was, Sara smiled and slid her hand into his. "Love to, Nottingham." 

Sara had not felt this nervous since her senior prom. Come to think of it, that had been the last time she had worn a dress and heels. Ian and Cailean had been thoughtful enough to keep the heels low, so her balance was not suffering, but the last time she had danced had been with her father at a policeman's ball. Fortunately for them both, his limp seemed much better, so as long as the music stayed relatively slow, they would both be fine.

Ian swallowed hard, nodding. He was not wearing his gloves, and the feel of her hands in his was exhilarating. He smiled nervously and led Sara onto the dance-floor, both anticipating and dreading what was to come.****


	5. Visions

**Chapter 5 -- Visions**

"No gloves?" Sara asked quietly as they found an isolated corner of the dance-floor. Both wanted to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. Mercifully, the music was far slower than it had been when Sara had entered the room, so nothing too fancy would be required of her tonight. 

"Formal-wear..." Ian shrugged and cautiously put one hand on her waist. He looked as if he expected her, at the very least, to slap him for his presumption. He had never felt so nervous before, over anything.

Sara smiled reassuringly and rested her hand on his shoulder before taking his other one. She smiled faintly, as much to hide her own nervousness as anything. Dancing with an assassin was definitely _not_ how she had planned on spending her evening.

"Leave room for the Holy Spirit, Sara..." Danny laughed, followed by, "Hey, how come you never dance with _me_?"

Sara ignored the comment, but not the advice. "You dance much, Nottingham?" she asked as they assumed a safe distance from one another.

He shook his head. "Only when Cailean is about." _Right, Nottingham, it's _only_ been ten years, so it's not like you need to worry about making an ass of yourself in front of Lady Sara._

Sara nodded and glanced at Cailean and Irons. Irons seemed completely absorbed in whatever Cailean was saying. Ian also noticed this, and was duly grateful to Cailean for it.

"I should warn you that it's been years since I've danced..." Sara admitted. "And I don't do heels very well."

"That's an understatement..." Danny contributed, grinning. Again, Sara ignored him.

Ian nodded reassuringly. "Simply follow my lead and tell me if you need me to slow down. You just need to find your feet, then you'll do fine." It seemed odd to him to be reassuring Sara Pezzini, of all people. She was normally the one who was confident and in control of every situation. It added to his own confidence that she was as ill at ease as he himself was.

Sara nodded gratefully. "Irons teach the two of you to dance?" she asked as Ian cautiously pulled her fractionally closer so that he could lead better. It was a little surprising considering that he had not come this close to her since that night in the alley right after they had met. Surprising, but also nice since this time he was not being his usual, cryptic self.

"Our tutors taught us at his insistence..." Ian explained, staring over her shoulder. After a brief pause, he added, "I did not expect that you would want to dance with me. Thank you for accepting." He paused. "Why _did_ you?" he asked quietly. 

Sara frowned, surprised at how hesitant he seemed, both in what he said and how he said it. Almost like the school nerd at his first dance with a girl. She smiled up at him, hoping to get him to relax somewhat. "My father once said that, on the dance-floor, everyone is equal."

He smiled, surprised not only by the phrase, but by the fact that _Sara_ had actually smiled at him. It was something that she should have done more often, he thought. "Cailean said the same thing."

Sara smiled back. She had never seen him smile before, which she now reflected was a shame. The man had a gorgeous smile. She nodded. "It must be true then." After a moment, she observed, "You're really very good." He was impressive, there was no doubt about that. He danced almost as well as he fought, and, although she never would have admitted it, she _loved_ to watch him in action.

Ian flushed and stared at his feet.

Sara stared at him in surprised confusion. "Hey, Nottingham. _Relax._" She gave him a reassuring grin.

"Forgive me." Ian gave her an apologetic look. "I'm unaccustomed to flattery."

Sara smiled reassuringly. "I noticed." The song changed to a slower one. Ignoring the expression on Danny's face, Sara moved a little closer to Ian, enjoying his proximity. For some odd reason, it seemed very right and very familiar "You any good at the slow ones?"

"Cailean says so. But she's highly biased."

"Better let me be the judge, then..." Sara said, sliding her arms around him.

Ian let out a small gasp.

Sara pulled away quickly, startled. She had guessed that he would not be big on physical contact, but his reaction seemed excessive. "Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to..."

He shook his head. "Forgive me, it wasn't you. I injured my back recently."

"Oh." Sara slid closer to him again, placing her hands on his shoulders from the front instead of wrapping them around his back. "Better?" she asked quietly.

"Much..." he whispered, slowly placing his hands on her back. 

Although it _felt_ familiar to hold her so close, Ian felt himself growing increasingly nervous. It was not that he was not enjoying himself. In fact, he was enjoying himself too much, against all of his training. Irons would have been furious with him had he known, but the pleasure of holding Sara close made his master's wrath seem like a minor consideration. It was even more than he had imagined it would be. Her body was soft and yielding against his and her hair tickled his face. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the almond-like scent of her hair and feeling like his body was on fire. Given the choice, he would never have let her go.

Sara was also enjoying herself, although, unlike Ian, she was not completely distressed by the fact. Admittedly, for a cop there was something vaguely unsettling about being attracted to a paid assassin, but, as she had said, on the dance-floor, all are equal. He was an undeniably good dancer, and being close to him was comfortable. She closed her eyes and rested her head against his muscular chest, enjoying everything about being close to him, even the fact that he wore no cologne, so the only thing she could smell as she leaned into him was him. It was strange and a little scary seeing him as a man for a change, instead of just regarding him as a paid assassin and loyal servant to a man she could not stand. Part of her wanted to retreat from the situation, but the part of her that was leaning against him and noticing how muscular he actually was overruled that.

Ian stared down at her, startled and a little confused. He had thought that she was simply being polite in agreeing to dance with him, but clearly she was enjoying herself almost as much as he was. And she did not seem to think that there was anything wrong with that. Her right hand was draped over his shoulder in such a way that the Witchblade was touching his shoulder. He lowered his head, resting his cheek against the stone, and against the smooth skin of her hand. The feeling was almost euphoric. 

The stone was cool against his flushed cheek at first, but he felt it warm quickly against his face. 

Abruptly, Sara found herself running through a tunnel, fighting off armed opponents. She had had the vision before, but this time it felt more immediate, more real. Running in the armor was almost painful. It was heavy and jarred with every step she took. The tunnel was musty-smelling, and the dancing torchlight disoriented her, made it hard to see more than a few paces in front of her. As she approached the end of the gauntlet, she became aware of a fully-armored knight standing at the end of the tunnel, waiting patiently. Her last test. She reached the other end of the corridor and regarded the knight waiting there apprehensively. He raised his visor, revealing the face of Ian Nottingham. She stared at him uncertainly, not raising her Blade against him, unsure what to do. She knew that she was _supposed _to attack him, it was part of the test, but she could not bring herself to. She lowered her weapon in confusion. He stared at her expressionlessly for a moment.

"Now, fair Lady, you begin to learn." Unexpectedly, he smiled at her, laying his sword aside.

"But, I don't understand..." she protested. "What have I learned? I haven't defeated you."

"There is more to being a warrior than knowing _how_ to fight. There is also knowing _when_ to fight." He took her hand and gently kissed it, causing her heart to leap into her throat.

Abruptly the vision shifted, and she was standing on an empty dance-floor with her knight. This time, the torchlight was comforting instead of intimidating, and the smell was not one of decay but of the recently cleared-away feast. Sara was not entirely sure if she and her knight were the same people as in the previous vision, but it hardly mattered. It was her and Ian. She was dressed in a light-green gown, he in a matching outfit of darker green. They danced together as if there was no one else in the world.

"I could remain in your arms forever..." she whispered to her knight, smiling radiantly at him. She had never been so happy as she was at this moment, in the arms of the man who she was meant for and who was meant for her.

"Only forever?" he asked with mock disappointment, drawing her close and smiling lovingly at his Lady fair. The only woman he ever had loved. The only woman he ever _would_. "Let us leave this place, milady..." he suggested. "Would you honestly rather spend your wedding night _dancing_?" he asked with a teasing smile.

"I'm afraid..." she admitted, bowing her head.

"Do not be, milady." He drew her into a tender embrace. "I am as inexperienced as you. We will learn together."

"Together..." she whispered, nodding and smiling shyly. "Just as we always have been."

"And always will be..." he agreed, leading her from the room. 

It was hard to tell whose hands were shaking worse in the bridal-chamber as he unlaced her dress and laid her out on the bed, but nervousness quickly left them. It was right, natural, and exactly as it had been in all of their lives before this one. They acted from an instinct that was half memory, amazing themselves and each other with the sensations that each tentative caress evoked. Encouraged by the success of these experiments, they quickly grew bolder. She pulled him onto her and eagerly rose to meet him, crying out in unison with him.

Sara stumbled in Ian's arms, as shocked by the vision as by its intensity and the feelings that it had evoked. She was honestly amazed that she had managed to refrain from screaming Ian's name. Ian stared at her with such shock that, for a moment, she was sure that he had also experienced the vision. She reminded herself that it was impossible as she composed herself. He was probably just surprised that she had stumbled.

"Sara?" Danny asked, concerned. "Are you okay? What happened."

Ian was left reeling by the vision. He had never experienced anything even remotely close to the sensations he just had. It had been the most amazing experience of his life, the most alive he had felt in years.

Shaking off his own amazement at the vision, he gently took her arms and walked her to an empty chair. "Are you well?" he asked softly, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing waiter and handing it to Sara. "Here, drink this..." He dropped to one knee in front of the chair and looked up at her anxiously. 

"Thanks, Nottingham." Sara smiled gratefully and took a sip. "Just... dizzy." This comment was directed as much to Danny as to Ian. She was not sure that she wanted to admit that particular vision to either man.

Ian  nodded shakily. Having shared the vision with her, he knew she was lying, but he accepted it without comment, not entirely sure how to react himself. She may well have been dizzy, for he certainly was, dizzy and more than dizzy. His brain and body were on fire, and being so close to Sara was only making matters worse. He was confused, not sure what to make of the thoughts and feelings chasing each other through his brain. He struggled hard to compose himself, finally achieving some semblance of his normal composure.

After an awkward moment of silence, he spoke. "I'm... um, I understand that your guardian angel is in attendance this evening?" he said to change the subject.

Sara blinked in surprise, looking from Ian to the very startled-looking Danny and back to Ian. "Um, yeah. How'd you..."

"Cailean saw him with you when you entered and informed me of it."

"Oh..." Sara said softly, trying to wrap her brain around the idea that Cailean could possibly see Danny as well. The Witchblade allowed Sara to see him, but normal people simply did not see ghosts. Or, if they did, they did not readily admit to it. Yet, Ian, who apparently could _not_ see Danny, accepted that Cailean could. She rubbed her head in confusion.

"Are you still feeling poorly?" Ian asked, obviously concerned. "Perhaps some fresh air..."

She nodded. "Yeah. That would probably help."

Ian rose and helped her to her feet. "I'll show you to the veranda." He hesitated, wondering, if the vision had disturbed her, if she would want to spend any more time with him, especially alone. "If that's agreeable?"

She nodded, a little surprised by his hesitancy. "Yeah, that's just fine, Nottingham."

"This way, please, Detective." Ian led her through the crowded room and onto the veranda. It was not lost on him that Cailean kept Irons distracted as he did so. She, too, would have been aware of everything that had just transpired with Sara, but she managed to keep her composure and throw herself entirely into the task of keeping Irons distracted.

Concerned by Sara's apparent dizzy-spell, Danny followed closely as Ian led her onto the empty veranda and stood next to the door, keeping his head down, but his eyes on Sara. He was worried about her. Both men were. She stepped into the cool night air and rested her hands on the guardrail, inhaling deeply. Roses grew up the trellis, and the warm night air seemed to magnify their scent. A gentle breeze ruffled her hair before reaching Ian, cooling his flushed face and delivering into his nose a mixture of the scent of roses and of Sara's almond-scented shampoo. Ian inhaled the scent deeply and, not entirely believing his own presumption or rashness, stepped forward, moving to stand next to her on her right.

"Are the visions always so troubling?" he asked softly, eyes cast downwards. He was relatively certain that Sara had no idea that he had shared the vision with her, and he had no wish to embarrass her by imparting this knowledge on her, yet he hoped that she might, of her own accord, discuss the vision with him.

Sara looked up, startled. Even in the absolute silence of the veranda, she had not heard him approach. Her eyes darted to her left, to Danny.

"It's okay, Sara..." Danny reassured her, nodding. He was not entirely sure how he _knew_ that it was okay, but he felt it. Ian Nottingham might have been a longhaired bad-boy, but he clearly cared for Sara very much, and that was enough to commend him in Danny's eyes.

"They, uh, have their moments, Nottingham." She frowned uncertainly, wondering how he had known that it had been a vision and not a dizzy-spell that had caused her to stumble.

He nodded in understanding, staring into the darkness. "You must learn to control the visions, Lady Sara. I can help you."

She stared at him, startled. "_What_? How?"

He bowed his head again. "A great part of my training has been dedicated to mental discipline. These things I can show you if you will allow me."

She stared at him in complete confusion. Part of her, Pez the homicide Detective, wanted nothing more than to get away from this bizarre man with his contradictory and anachronistic behaviors. This part of her mind insisted that he was dangerous, to be avoided. It reminded her who he worked for and told her not to trust him. Another part of her, fair Lady Sara the Wielder, was inexorably drawn to his quiet hesitancy, attracted to him for all the little ways in which he protected and served her, compelled by the vision she had just had and eager to repeat it in this lifetime as well. 

Ian seemed to sense the internal conflict. He spoke quietly, reassuringly. "This offer does not expire. If _ever_ you require my aid or assistance in _any_ way, you need only ask and it shall be yours."

Sara blinked in surprise. While he spoke, she did not see Ian Nottingham, assassin, but the knight from her visions. "Um... thanks, Nottingham."

He nodded politely. "Are you prepared now to return?" he asked, worried that Irons might have noticed their absence by now but hoping that she would not yet be ready to return.

"Uh, no, not yet..." Sara shook her head, oddly reluctant to return to the crowed party, preferring to spend just a few more minutes alone with Nottingham. Or _almost_ alone. Danny was still hovering anxiously. "If you don't mind, I'd like to stay out here for a few more minutes."

Ian nodded and half-bowed. "I do not mind, Lady Sara."

"Why do you call me that, Nottingham?"

He looked up, startled. "Does it offend you?"

Sara frowned, surprised by the question. "No. I just don't... get it. What makes me so..." She paused, struggling for words to express what she felt. He thought that she was special, but he was wrong. He had to be. She was only Sara. "Why am I even _worthy_ to be called that?" she asked, wishing that she could, honestly, be worthy of his quiet attentions. She had never felt that way about a man before in her life. Always before, it had been the man's job to prove himself to her, which might have explained her lack of long-term relationships. Only Danny had ever completely lived up to the high standards she set, yet she had never really been attracted to him. With Ian, it was different, completely unique in her experience.

Ian stared at her for a moment, wide-eyed. How could she not know how special she truly was? He abruptly slid to one knee and took her right hand in both of his, glancing momentary at the Witchblade before staring up at her gravely. "Even if this had never fallen to you, even if you had never been judged worthy of the Witchblade, Lady Sara, you _would_ remain worthy of my respect." He dropped his head, staring at the ground. "And of my dedication..." he whispered. He took a deep breath before continuing. "You are... everything that a Wielder should be and more. You are strong and just, yes, but also compassionate and kind, loyal, understanding, determined..." he trailed off, at a loss for words to describe the woman standing before him.

Sara drew a deep breath, torn and more than a little confused. Although part of her was distinctly unsettled by this display, another part of her insisted that it was _right_, natural. That it had happened before and would again and was exactly as it should be. 

Moved by the mood of the moment and by the emotions still fresh from the vision that he had shared with her, Ian tenderly kissed her hand, only adding to Sara's confusion. That felt right, too, and that scared her. Feeling for him in a vision was one thing, but translating that into real life was new to her. He felt her hand tense in his grasp and abruptly dropped it.

"Forgive me..." he muttered, rising and turning away, ashamed by his conduct.

Sara stared at him, confused. And men accused _her_ of giving off mixed signals. "Um... no, Nottingham, it's okay." She smiled at him and caught his hands, pulling him close. "You want to finish that dance now?" she suggested gently.

He stared at her with wide eyes for several minutes before slowly nodding. Danny watched the exchange, shaking his head and wondering if Sara had the slightest idea how badly Ian was gone on her. 

"I would... like that very much..."

"Ask him about Cailean..." Danny suggested as they danced. "It might be the only chance you have to get either of them alone without Irons hovering around..."

Sara nodded and asked the first question that sprang to mind. "You said that Cailean can see Danny?"

"Danny?" Ian asked.

"My ex-partner. My, um... my guardian angel." Sara smiled at Danny who bowed his head, embarrassed.

Ian nodded. "Yes. She can see and hear him quite clearly."

"Can you?" Sara asked.

"Not as clearly as Cailean. For me it's... usually more of an awareness that he's here. It depends on where we are. I saw his reflection quite clearly in a window once during a thunderstorm."

Danny nodded in confirmation. "During the Periculum."

"But Cailean can see him all the time?"

Ian nodded.

"Can she see... _other _ghosts, too?"

"Yes."

Sara frowned curiously. "How?"

Ian nodded slowly. "Cailean... she's always had a very... advanced understanding of matters of life and death." He frowned thoughtfully. "It is... difficult to explain. She understands a great deal." 

"Like what?" Sara asked, curious.

Ian hesitated, wondering if Sara could _ever_ accept him as a man once he told her what he was about to. "Both of us have had certain... changes made to our brains. Drugs and therapies designed to enhance certain aspects of our performance..."

"When you were in the Black Dragons?" Sara nodded. "Loyalty, strength, speed, aggression, yeah."

Ian blinked, startled that she seemed already to know about these changes and was willing to accept them without comment. "Yes. Similar types of changes were made to Cailean at the same time."

"To make her a better soldier?" Sara asked.

Ian nodded, then shook his head. "Only in part. Aggression was not considered a desirable trait in Cailean the way that it was in the Black Dragons."

Sara frowned thoughtfully. "Why?"

"With Cailean, the object was to render her into a warrior who would be completely... controllable." Ian's voice was quiet, bitter.

Sara experienced another vision. A girl of sixteen, dressed in jeans and a black turtleneck, knelt in front of a massive fireplace as a man brandished the Witchblade at her. Sara could not see the man's face, but his hair was snowy white. The girl was clearly a young Cailean. The man had to have been Irons, since she recognized the fireplace as the one in his sitting-room.

"Just put it on..." Irons hissed, throwing it at her.

The vision dissolved and Sara looked up at Ian, startled. "Irons wanted Cailean to be the next Wielder?"

Ian nodded. "Once he saw what I was capable of, it occurred to him that a sister of mine might be the perfect Wielder. _If_ he could control her. He tried to force her to wear it, but could not. She refused even to try."

"So Irons was never able to make her wear it?"

Ian shook his head. "Cailean endured much at his hands as he tried to force her, but she won. She was very brave. The Witchblade has never adorned her wrist." Ian was both proud of Cailean's ability to resist Irons and ashamed that he had never been able to equal her in that respect.

"Wow..." Sara muttered, staring over her shoulder in the direction of the party. "Standing up to Irons like that is gutsy. Especially as a kid."

Ian nodded. "Cailean has always been stronger than I..." he whispered. "And she fears very little."

"You don't exactly strike me as the type of guy who's beset by fears, Nottingham. You risked your life to help me out with Conchabar."

Ian considered this for a moment before shaking his head. "We all have fears, Detective. Some have more and some less. The fact that I willingly walked into a gun-battle doesn't change that. My only thought was of protecting you."

Sara looked up at him. "Why did you, though?"

"I told you, to protect you."

"But why?" Sara asked softly. 

Ian closed his eyes, struggling to define exactly what it was that he felt for Sara that made him want to be with her yet also willing to risk his life to protect her lover. It made no sense, so he went with the easy answer. "You are the Wielder. It is my duty to protect you." 

Sara frowned. "Just like that? Unquestioningly?"

He nodded gravely.

_Ian, you're about to have company..._ Cailean warned. 

Ian abruptly pulled away from Sara. "He comes..." he muttered in hasty apology.

Sara frowned at him uncomprehendingly until Irons and Cailean walked onto the veranda. She frowned curiously at Ian, wondering how his hearing could possibly be good enough to have heard them approaching from inside.

"Ah, here they are!" Irons said cheerfully.

Ian bowed regretfully to Sara and joined Cailean near the door. They stood on either side of the entrance like a pair of sentinels, watching Irons expressionlessly. 

_Is he angry with me, Cailean?_

_No, Ian. He has no idea how long the two of you have been out here alone. He thinks that it has been only a few seconds. _

_Thanks, no doubt, to you?_

_When he noticed that you were no longer there, I told him that you had just left._

Sara nodded to Irons. "Hey. Sorry to cut out like that, but I was feeling kind of dizzy. Thought some fresh air might help."

"Indeed?" Irons asked, frowning. He rearranged his features into an expression of concern. "Are you still feeling dizzy, Sara?"

She shook her head. "Not really. The fresh air helped."

"That's good to know." Irons nodded. He glanced at Ian and Cailean. "Children, you may go now."

Recognizing an order when they heard one, Ian and Cailean turned and left. Sara regarded Irons cautiously, once more glad for Danny's quiet presence. 

Irons approached Sara. "Do you often suffer dizzy spells, Sara?" he asked curiously. He had been to distracted by Cailean to share the sensations that the vision on the dance-floor had evoked in Sara. As far as he was concerned, there had been no vision; Sara had merely become dizzy.

She shook her head. "No."

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "If they persist, you should consider consulting a doctor. I can give you the name of an excellent one."

"Thanks, but I seriously doubt that I could afford the kind of doctor that you see."

"For you, I'm sure he'd be willing to waive his fee."

Sara looked at him dubiously. "What's the catch?"

"No catch." Irons smiled benignly. "I'm merely protecting my interests."

Sara nodded, knowing that he was talking about the Witchblade. "Thanks. If they don't go away, I'll let you know." She smiled insincerely.

Irons smiled back. "I do hope Ian behaved himself out here..." he remarked casually.

Sara frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

Irons smiled like an indulgent father. "You mean you hadn't noticed? Poor Ian has... developed something of a school-boy crush on you, fair Sara. School-boy crushes and Ian's level of social ineptitude tend to make a bad combination."

Sara frowned, but not at the revelation that Ian had a crush on her, which, coming from Irons, could easily be a lie. Instead, she was disgusted by Irons, by the way he had treated Ian earlier, by the way he was acting now, and by Irons in general. He always had been and always would be a manipulative bastard. Mentioning that Ian had a crush on her was just one more way of trying to manipulate her behavior, even though she was not sure to what end. She doubted that Ian was attracted to her simply because Irons had said it, but she also found herself strangely disappointed by the thought that he might _not_ be. She pushed away thoughts of Ian and everything he must suffer with Irons as a master. 

"Tell me something, Irons. Sorry... Kenneth." She smiled. "How is it that Nottingham ended up so socially inept while his sister is quite comfortable playing the belle of the ball?"

Irons smiled. "Ah, well you see, Sara, in Cailean's case, a certain amount of social grace is required. Her main purpose with Vorschlag Industries is to represent my professional interests abroad. This often necessitates attendance at various social functions."

"Whereas bodyguards and enforcers don't really need to go to parties a lot."

Irons smiled and nodded. "Precisely, although I assure you, Ian has had every opportunity to broaden his scope in that regard. He's simply never had the inclination, and I've never seen the need to force him in that direction."

Sara sensed that this was a lie, but she let it go. "Cailean is... quite a woman."

Irons smiled proudly. "Isn't she, though? I daresay that she's in a position to far surpass her brother's accomplishments quite soon."

The Witchblade grew warm on her wrist as Irons spoke, and Sara slid her arm behind her back. "In what way?" she asked curiously. "What makes your girl special?"

Irons smiled more widely, gratified by her interest in his possession. "Well, as an example, Cailean is Ian's equal in the martial arts. Ian is the stronger of the two, but Cailean beats Ian by far in endurance and pain-tolerance. These things usually allow her to prevail over her brother. However, her _real_ superiority lies in her chameleon-like behaviors. Like Ian, she can hide in the shadows, but Cailean can also hide in plain view. She becomes exactly what I require her to become, which makes her the ideal spy."

"Would that be part of 'representing your professional interests abroad'?" Sara asked quietly.

"You disapprove, Sara?" Irons asked gently.

"I never said that."

Irons smiled vaguely. "What you must understand, fair Sara, is that business is _not _a dreadfully civilized thing. It requires a certain degree of ruthlessness. With Cailean, I can cut throats and stab backs without having to... cut throats and stab backs." He smiled at her. 

Sara nodded. "So Cailean is... what, just another tool to help you run your business?"

Irons laughed and nodded. "Precisely, Sara. Cailean _and_ Ian. My most valuable possessions."

"Ah..." Sara nodded slowly, disgusted by his cavalier attitude, but hoping that his expansive mood would last long enough for her to get more information on the two. "And how did you... acquire them?"

Irons regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. "_That_, fair Sara, is a conversation for another night."

Sara shrugged. "Okay. I'll make an appointment."

He smiled widely. "For you, fair Sara, no appointment is required."

"Aww... Isn't that sweet?" Danny remarked, clearly as disgusted by Irons as Sara herself was.

"You know, Irons, people are going to start getting ideas about the two of us..." Sara muttered, disgusted by his continued use of the phrase 'fair Sara'. If he was trying to seduce her, it was not working. If he was trying to unsettle her, mission accomplished.

Irons stepped closer. "Well, we can't have that." He smiled down at her, taking her hands in his. "Can we?"

Sara shook her head slowly, nauseated by his touch. "You have lots of girlfriends... Kenneth. Boyfriends, too, I've heard. I don't have a problem with that, it's your business, but I am not about to join a harem." 

"You tell him, Sara..." Danny muttered.

Irons smiled, clearly amused. "Say the word and I'll get rid of all of them." His voice was perfectly serious.

Danny chuckled softly. "You know, Sara, I'm betting that when he says 'get rid of them' he _means_ get rid of them." The last 'get rid of them' was said in a Godfather-style accent. "If he kisses you on the mouth, I'm out of here, okay?"

Sara bit her lip to keep from smiling. "Sweet offer, but I'm still in mourning."

Irons nodded. "Of course you are." He smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "Are you still feeling poorly?"

"I'm a lot better, thanks."

"Splendid. Then you're ready to return to the party?" He offered her his arm.

Sara decided to forget for now that she still wanted to learn more about Cailean. She could no longer tolerate Irons or his touch. "Actually, I was thinking that I'd just go home. I'm still kind of beat."

Irons slid an arm around her shoulders. "Well, if you're still feeling poorly, then I can't, in conscience, send you home. You can stay in one of the guest-rooms and I'll have my personal physician look in on you in the morning." 

"You _do_ know that that's a really bad idea, Sara?" Danny muttered in obvious alarm. "This guy gets you alone and unconscious and there's no telling what he might do..."

Sara did not need any such warning. "You know, I really can't sleep anywhere but my own bed. It's this... quirk I have. I think I'll just go home." _And take a long shower._

"And take a long shower..." Danny added, shaking his head. "Is this guy for real?"

"Of course, Sara. I'll call for a chauffer at once." He smiled at her and took her arm. "You can rest in the library until he arrives."

"Thanks." Sara allowed herself to be led by Irons even though her skin was crawling from his touch. Ian and Cailean had been waiting near the door and followed him to the library.

Irons led her into the library and helped her into a large wing-back chair. He turned to leave, then paused. "Will you be okay alone?"

"Um..." Although she hated the idea of Irons thinking of her as in any way helpless, she also wanted another opportunity to speak with Ian. "I don't know..."

Irons nodded. "Cailean, stay with her. Ian, come."

Ian bowed to Sara and followed Irons from the room.

"Can I offer you a drink, Detective?" Cailean asked quietly, kneeling near her chair.

"I'm fine, thanks."

Cailean nodded. "I approve your escort's taste in clothing..." she whispered. "The smoking-jacket was a nice touch." She smiled faintly in Danny's direction.

Danny shifted, feeling a little uncomfortable. "Hi." He waved uncertainly.

"Hello." Cailean smiled and returned her attention to Sara. "Did you enjoy your dance with Ian?" she asked.

Sara nodded. "He's a good dancer."

"As are you. The two of you are well-matched."

Sara smiled uncertainly. She had the distinct impression that Cailean was talking about something more than dancing.

Cailean continued blithely. "It was a shame that your... dizziness put a premature end to the dance." Having received from her brother a shallow reflection of what Sara and Ian had experienced together, she was not surprised that Sara had stumbled. Although she doubted that it was likely to come to pass in this lifetime, she fleetingly wished that the two could find some happiness in each other's arms.

Sara frowned at her, wondering if she could have known about the vision. It almost seemed that way from the way she had paused before saying the word 'dizziness'. It did not make very much sense that Cailean could have been aware of the vision, but, then, what in her life _had_ made sense since she'd found the Witchblade. Her answer was noncommittal. "Yeah, it was."

"I confess myself curious about something, Detective..." Cailean began slowly.

"What's that?" Sara asked.

Cailean hesitated. She had been ordered by Irons to ask Sara this question. She could only hope that the Detective would have the good sense to lie. "What made you walk into my cell yesterday?" She gave Sara a warning look, hoping that it would be enough.

It took Sara a moment to realize that Cailean was warning her that they were being monitored. "I don't know." She shrugged. "You just looked helpless. My heart went out to you."

"Compassion, Detective?" Cailean asked.

Sara nodded. "Yeah. Compassion."

Cailean nodded as if this answer were satisfactory. "I see. I thank you for you kindness to me there."

"No problem." Sara shrugged uncomfortably. "So, how long are you going to be in town for?" she asked.

Cailean hesitated. "I do not yet know. My Master has not yet seen fit to tell me for what purpose I have been called here."

"What do you do for him, exactly?" Sara asked.

Cailean glanced at the ground. "Many things."

Sara had a series of rapid visions of Cailean. In one, she was in bed with Irons, eyes closed, biting her lip to keep from crying out in pain. In another, she was dropping a pill into a man's drink. In yet another, she crouched on a fire-escape using a parabolic microphone to eavesdrop on a conversation. A series of visions featured Cailean sitting in various board-rooms directing different meetings.

"I represent his professional interests abroad..." Cailean continued vaguely. "Among other things."

Sara shivered, repulsed by the image of the woman in bed with Irons. She could almost feel the pain and shame of the act. She did not push Cailean for a more detailed explanation of her duties. "So, Nottingham tells me that the two of you learned to dance together?"

Cailean nodded, grateful to Sara for changing the subject. "Yes. The lessons were very happy times for us." She smiled fondly.

Sara could not help but smile with the woman. "You two must love each other a great deal."

"Our first loyalty is to our Master."

Sara frowned, surprised by the answer that was not an answer at all. Was Irons really such a control-freak that he did not even allow siblings in his employ to _love_ each other? If he was, he had failed, for Cailean and Ian clearly cared for each other very deeply.

Cailean looked up abruptly. "It's been good to talk to you, Detective."

Sara nodded, not bothering to press Cailean to talk further. The woman was less communicative than her brother if such a thing were possible.

A few moments later, Ian and Irons returned to the library.

"Your ride is here, Sara..." Irons informed her, extending his hand and helping her from the chair. As he walked her to the door, flanked by Ian and Cailean, he spoke. "Now, if you are not feeling 100% better by morning, I want you to call me and I'll have my personal physician pay you a visit."

"Thanks, Irons, but I really don't think that's necessary. I think I just need a good rest."

"I insist, Sara. If you still feel poorly, you must call."

Sara nodded to get him to leave her alone. "Sure thing, Irons."

He nodded and smiled. "Splendid. I'd offer to send Cailean along to see that you get safely to bed, but I'm afraid that she simply can't be spared here."

Sara seriously doubted that Irons would have given her such an opportunity to get Cailean alone. "That's okay, Irons. I'll be fine."

He nodded. "I certainly hope so." 

Irons kissed her hand, an entirely different sensation from when Ian had kissed it. She would have compared it to being kissed by a snake, but that would have been an insult to reptiles everywhere.

Danny was sticking his finger in his mouth again and making gagging noises. As she turned her back to Irons, she mouthed 'shut up'. He shrugged and desisted.

"Good evening, Detective..." Cailean gently squeezed her hand. "Thank you for coming. I hope we'll see you again soon?"

Sara nodded slowly. "Yeah. Maybe." 

She did not expect Ian to say anything as she pulled on her coat, but he did. He shook her hand. Both wished that he could have kissed it. "Good evening, Detective. Thank you for gracing us with your presence."

Sara smiled at him and nodded, reluctant to let go of his hand. "Thanks for the dance, Nottingham. Hope your back feels better."

Sara found herself engulfed in another vision. Ian knelt in front of the massive fireplace in the sitting-room, shirtless and with his back to Irons. His back was a mess, marked with dozens of recent lash-marks, most bruised and discolored.

"Who do you serve, young Nottingham?" Irons asked casually, twirling a lash in his hand.

"You, sir, and the Lady Sara."

"In _that_ order!" Irons spat, raising the lash. "_Never_ disobey me again!" He tore into Ian's back with blind fury until the man collapsed on the flagstone.

Sara reeled from the vision, pitching forward into Ian's arms.

"Forgive me..." he whispered urgently, for her ears only. "You were never meant to see that." He helped her right herself and half-carried her to a chair in the front hall.

Irons looked on in obvious distress. "Sara?" he asked uncertainly. "Are you in pain?" He was not, which meant that she could not be, but she certainly _looked_ like she was in pain.

Sara shook her head, grateful that he had not tried to touch her again. She would not have been able to maintain what was left of her facade if he had. She looked at Ian in confusion, trying to understand what she had seen, but he was too ashamed to meet her eye.

_Ian?_ Cailean asked.

_She saw a vision of him lashing me for my disobedience._ Ian's voice was full of shame that Sara had been forced to see the things that Irons put him through in the name of discipline. She could not be expected to understand why he put up with it. She would only think him weak because he did.

"Perhaps I _should_ call a doctor..." Irons suggested.

Sara shook her head. "I just need to get into bed. I haven't been sleeping much lately..." she lied, hoping it would sound convincing.

"And you're sure you wouldn't rather stay here?" Irons asked.

"In your dreams, pal..." Danny muttered.

Sara shook her head. "No. I just want to go home."

"Very well..." Irons sighed and helped her into a limo, leaving the driver with orders to see her to her front door and make sure that she got inside okay.

"You okay, ma'am?" the driver asked, helping her into the back seat.

She nodded weakly, resting her head against the back of the seat. "Just fine. Long day, longer night."

He nodded and closed the door. 

Danny looked down at Sara with obvious concern. "What's going on with you, Sara?" he asked. "You aren't sick, I'd be able to tell."

She nodded. "We'll talk about it when we get home, Danny..." she muttered, shaking her head.

He nodded slowly. "Are you okay?"

"Right now, Danny, I'm just tired. But... we'll talk. I promise. Just... not here. We'll talk."

Danny nodded. "I'm holding you to that, Sara."

Sara nodded and looked at him, but he was already gone. She sighed and shook her head, hoping that he would show up again after she got home. Although she had been reluctant to talk to him in the car, which, owned by Irons as it was, could well have been bugged, she very much wanted to talk to him, to get the visions off of her chest.


	6. a Good and Faithful Servant

**Chapter 6 -- a Good and Faithful Servant**

Sara sighed as she climbed out of the shower. She had been hoping that Danny would show up once she got home, but she had not seen him yet. She wrapped a towel around her hair and pulled on her boxers.

"Where are you when I need you, Danny..." she muttered, pulling on an undershirt.

"Waiting for you to get decent."

Sara spun around and saw Danny standing by the bathroom door with his back to her. "Smart-ass..." she muttered.

"Well, you know, I figured I'd give you time for a shower. I know I'd want one if I'd spent an evening getting groped by Irons. Oh, I'm sorry, he wants us to call him _Kenneth_ tonight." He made a face.

"Don't remind me." Sara slid past him and dropped onto her bed. "God, that man makes me sick."

"You don't seem to mind his boyfriend, though."

Sara smiled up at him. "Aw, come on Danny, you think Nottingham's hot, don't you?"

"Nottingham? He's okay. Now Tommy Lee is hot." Danny smiled and shook his head, amused. "What is it with you two, though, Sara?" he asked more seriously.

"Nothing, Danny. There's nothing. He's my stalker, that's all."

"Didn't look that way to me. You two seemed to be sharing some pretty intense visions tonight."

"Sharing?" Sara shook her head. "No, Danny, it doesn't work like that."

Danny folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. "Sara..."

Sara blinked in sudden remembrance. "'Forgive me. You were never meant to see that...'" she muttered. She shook her head in confusion. "How the hell does _that_ work?" she demanded, frustrated. Her face grew red as it suddenly occurred to her that, if Nottingham had been aware of her vision of him being beaten, he might also have shared in the vision on the dance-floor. "Jeez..." she muttered, shaking her head. Good thing that things between them were so awkward normally, because _that_ would just cap it. She would probably not be able to look him in the eye again ever. Not that he ever looked _her_ in the eye. Embarrassment gave way to irritation and frustration.

"What did you see, Sara?" Danny prompted gently. "What did he show you?"

Sara decided not to share the dance-floor vision with Danny. She was having a hard enough time dealing with her own reaction to it without having to justify herself about it to Danny.

"He didn't _show_ me anything! I told him that I hoped his back felt better, I was wondering what he did to it, and then I saw..." She looked up at Danny, frowning and shaking her head. "Irons beat him, Danny. He had a whip or something and he just..." she trailed off, feeling nauseous at the memory. "Nottingham just sat there and let him do it. Danny, why would _anyone_ let someone else do that to them?"

He shook his head, troubled by her obvious distress. "I... I don't know, Sara. What else did you see?" he asked slowly, hoping that at least some of it was better than the vision of Nottingham getting beaten. 

There was a very real affinity between the two that he had somehow missed before, and Sara deserved at least one live man in her life who was willing to be totally straight with her. He loved Sara dearly and was always glad to help her out in whatever way he could, but she needed a friend who could hold her hand when she was upset, someone who cared about her as much as Danny himself did. He was beginning to wonder if Ian might not be that person.

"I saw just exactly what a cold bastard Irons really is. Danny, the man is evil."

"You only just figured this out?"

Sara shook her head. "Danny, if you had seen what I saw tonight, the things that man has done to Nottingham and to Cailean..." she trailed off, unable to continue. She had witnessed as many acts of brutality today as she normally witnessed in a year as a homicide detective and she was physically and psychologically exhausted by it.

"Try to get some rest, Sara..." Danny suggested gently. "You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks, partner." Sara rolled her eyes and dropped onto the bed. She pulled up her blanket and turned off the light. "You going to keep hovering?"

"Hovering. Ghost humor... Cute." Danny grinned at her.

"Are you?" Sara asked seriously.

"Do you want me to?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah, actually, I do. After the evening I've had, I'm feeling fairly freaked out."

"Okay, Sara." Danny knelt next to the bed. "I'll sit up with you, for what that's worth."

"It's worth a lot, Danny." Sara smiled at him. "Thank you."

Danny smiled shyly, pleased. "Night, Sara." As he watched Sara drift off to sleep, the feeling of disquiet that he had been feeling since the day before began to return. For some reason, whatever was about to happen in Sara's life had left him more unsettled than he had been by the Periculum.

***

"It's a shame that fair Sara had to leave us so early..." Irons muttered, sipping a glass of scotch in his now-clean sitting-room. 

The shards of glass and pottery on the floor had been cleared away and the shattered display-case removed and was in the process of being rebuilt, along with such of its contents as could be returned to their original condition. The Ming vase had been replaced by a slightly larger vase from the Chen Dynasty until Irons could lay hands on another Ming that matched the sitting-room's decor. The Monet had been sent to a professional restorer who had taken one look at it and declared it irretrievable. An original M.C. Escher drawing now occupied the Monet's position on the wall, complete with a personalized inscription: _To my good friend Ken with best wishes on your birthday. Parallel lines always meet..._ It had been that off-handed comment by Irons that had inspired Escher to adopt his unique style in the first place.

Ian stood next to the fireplace in his traditional pose. Cailean knelt on the ground next to her Master's chair, staring at the ground.

"Still, overall I'd have to call the party a success. Wouldn't you agree, Cailean?"

"Yes, my Master." She nodded.

"How's the hand?" Irons asked, extending his own with a snap.

Cailean obediently extended her splinted hand for examination. "There is some pain still, my Master, but it is not serious."

Irons nodded in approval and dropped her hand. "Sara's display tonight was troubling..." he remarked absently before lapsing back into silence.

_Did you enjoy your dance with Lady Sara, Ian?_

_Very much so, Cailean. I... perhaps enjoyed it too much. I did not guard myself as well as I could have. It could have gone ill._

_I kept him distracted._

_For which I am grateful, Cailean, but it was dangerous. For both of us. _Ian hesitated before admitting,_ Still, I would do it again in an instant._

"Do you think she might be ill?" Irons asked, lightly resting his hand on top of Cailean's head.

"She seemed, perhaps, tired, my Master, but certainly not ill..." Cailean answered guardedly.

Irons nodded and slid his hands down her face, lifting her chin up so that he could look her in the eyes. "Ready for bed, my dear?"

Cailean swallowed hard, fighting against the wave of nausea that she always experienced in response to that question. She hated the way he asked as though she had some choice in the matter, but she was careful to stifle that response. If he saw any resistance in her, he had the ability to make the rest of her evening agonizing. She could feel the anger and frustration radiating off of Ian, echoing her own, more carefully guarded, sentiments.

_Say no..._ Ian begged her. _Tell him no._

Cailean wished for nothing more than to do what Ian said, but she knew how these things worked. Irons owned both of them, and he had never hesitated to take out his frustration with the disobedience of one on the other. She was less afraid that Irons might punish her if she said no than she was that he might decide to punish Ian. So close on the heels of the last two beatings, a third could easily have proved too much even for her brother.

"I... am if... if my M... Master says I am..." she finally managed in a shaking voice.

Irons chuckled lightly. "That's my girl. Let's go, then."

Ian moved swiftly from his place by the fire and dropped to his knees in front of Irons before the older man could rise. He stared at the ground as he spoke. "Master, Cailean has had a very long two days. She must be exhausted. It might be better if she were to go directly to sleep tonight. You can... find someone else to share your bed tonight, I'm sure."

Cailean stared at her brother, too shocked to react.

Irons regarded Ian in surprise for several minutes. A slow smile spread across his face. "Young Nottingham, are you actually offering yourself to me in your sister's place?" he asked, amused. He had, of course, fantasized about the strong, handsome young man more than once, but the idea that Ian might actually offer himself up for the taking had never once occurred to him.

Ian was shaking, but he nodded. "I am."

_Ian, have you taken leave of your senses? _Cailean demanded. _You can't do this._

_The offer has already been made. I can not retract it now._

_Why, Ian? Why would you do such a thing?_

_I am tired of standing by as he hurts you. I will not. Not any longer._

Irons placed his drink down and leaned forward, lifting Ian's face in his hands. "It's an intriguing offer, I admit..." he muttered, caressing Ian's face thoughtfully. He was seriously considering accepting. After all, Ian was a physically superior specimen.

_Cailean..._ Ian began, sensing Cailean's growing anxiety, which seemed almost greater than his own.

_No, Ian! You have no idea what you are offering! You should never have put the idea into his head. _Never_ do this again! _

_I don't understand, Cailean._ Ian was troubled as to why she was not grateful to him for trying to extract her from a situation that she clearly loathed the very thought of.__

_That's just the problem, Ian. You have no understanding of what you offer. I know that the Black Dragons taught you never to go into a situation with all the facts, and that is what you are doing here. Never again, Ian._ Cailean kept her mental voice stern, not out of anger with Ian, but out of fear for him. 

"My Master..." Cailean began, struggling to keep her voice steady. "This is not..."

"Silence, child..." Irons ordered, holding up two fingers. The old fear was back in her voice, reminding him of old times. She was _gorgeous_ when she was afraid. "It's an intriguing offer..." he repeated, nodding and returning his attention to Ian, who was shaking in his gentle grasp. Definite possibilities here as well.

It was a shame really that he was no longer as young as he had once been. Taking the two of them together could have made for an entertaining, if exhausting, evening.

He scrutinized Ian's face carefully, amused by the obvious fear there. He brushed his fingers over the younger man's lips, gauging his response. Ian flinched noticeably, drawing a reflective smile from Irons. The young man was not afraid. He was terrified. _Definite_ possibilities there. Even Cailean had stopped being afraid after a few years, and, properly managed, fear could be almost as much fun as enthusiasm. 

Ian was still shaking in his grasp. Perhaps he had finally stumbled upon a method of controlling him? He shook his head, reminding himself that Ian was completely inexperienced. This in itself was not a bad thing, per se, but in order to do his job, Ian required total control and concentration. There could be no distractions, and Ian discovering that he enjoyed sex, especially at this late date, definitely qualified as a distraction. Cailean's early exposure and her artificially diminished libido allowed her to control her urges and keep her mind firmly on her task. For Ian, it was likely too late.

Which _was _a shame. Irons had seen the man in action. Ian had elevated the art of combat to a form of physical poetry, and this was mirrored in every move he made in any task. Irons had no doubt that it would have carried over quite well to romance. Neither did it hurt that the younger man was stunningly attractive and unbelievably strong and flexible. And those hands of his, both strong and gentle, capable one moment of breaking a man's neck and the next of soothing away a child's tears. An evening with Ian would have been truly unforgettable.

"Go to bed, Ian..." Irons ordered with a regretful sigh. 

_Ian, just go!_ Cailean ordered when Ian hesitated.

Irons held up a hand to keep Ian from leaving. "I have deliberately limited your exposure to these things for a reason, young Nottingham. Your training could suffer immensely as a result of exposure to these concepts and sensations now." He smiled at Ian, who bowed his head, not wanting to meet his master's eye. "Which is a shame, really. Go now."

When Cailean echoed the order, Ian slunk off, confused and worried. He felt dirty all over from that brief, strange contact. How would Cailean feel when Irons was through with her? 

His thoughts were confused, turbulent. He had been horrified that Irons would accept his offer, but at the same time horrified that he might decline. Now he simply felt shame and an almost overwhelming sadness. He could not quite understand why Cailean had been so distressed when he had offered to take her place, but he had sensed that she was not so much angry as protective, fearful that he might get hurt. Never in his life had he felt as confused as in this moment. Not knowing what else to do, he fled to his room.

Irons smiled at Cailean. "Child, why did you wish me to decline Ian's offer?" he asked quietly.

Cailean stared at the ground again. "I love and respect my brother dearly, but there are things that, even at his age, he can not understand. It would only confuse him." This, of course, was a lie. Cailean had long since grown used to it, but Irons would have brutalized the inexperienced Ian. "As you yourself pointed out, my Master, this could cause permanent damage to his training."

Irons nodded, knowing full well that she was lying. He forced her head up, wanting to look into her eyes as she took in his next statement. "Your tutors inform me that you have picked up some _very_ bad habits, Cailean."

She dropped her eyes, not answering. 

"You betray yourself, my dear." He rose, stepping past her as if she were not there, forcing her to lean out of his way. "Heroin, my dear? Dreadfully old-fashioned, don't you think? Low-brow as well..."

"It dulls the pain that resulted from the experiments..." Cailean muttered, closing her eyes. She wondered if he had risen to retrieve the lash.

"I know. That's why I told your tutors to allow you to continue in the practice..." Irons whispered in her ear.

Cailean glanced up in surprise. He was holding a flat, wooden box in his hands. "My Master?" she asked in confusion. 

"Once it became clear that the drugs did not interfere with your performance, I saw no reason to take your little hobby from you, Cailean. I admit that I was initially concerned about side-effects, which is why I had the good Doctor Immo synthesize the drug which you've been using for the past three years."

"I... I don't understand..." Cailean began, shaking her head in confusion. _Manipulative bastard!_ she thought, furious with him.

"Your... suppliers have all worked for me. They've given you only what I tell them to, dear." Irons handed her the box. "Wouldn't want you damaging my property after all." 

He smiled at her and sat down again. The truth was that the decrease in side-effects from Immo's new formula was a secondary gain. When Irons had discovered that Cailean was using drugs recreationally, he had felt his control over her slipping. Rather than try to force Cailean to quit taking the drugs, Irons had seized upon the habit as a more subtle method of controlling her behavior. Immo's blend gave the same sense of euphoria as any opiate, in fact to a slightly greater degree than most. It also led to increased docility and complacency. And it was extremely habit-forming. Without even being aware of the substitution, Cailean had become hooked with her first dose, reinforcing her dependency on Irons.

Cailean glanced down at the box with shaking hands. His property, he had called her, as if allowing her to think of herself as a human for even a single day would have been detrimental. 

"Go ahead, dear." Irons smiled warmly. "I admit, I've been curious as to how you manage to inject yourself without leaving visible bruises. Show me."

There was no point in resisting. Not only would he have punished her, probably, the evil bastard, by telling Ian about her 'habit', but she _needed _it very badly right now. Furious with him for his intrusion into the only private act she had left, Cailean nodded and opened the box. She uncapped the syringe and picked up the vial of amber liquid, expertly sliding the needle through the rubber stopper and drawing up several CCs of the drug. Although she resented her master's intrusion into it, there was no point in feeling any shame over the act. It made her life more tolerable and dulled the memories of past abuses. Maybe it would make tonight more tolerable as well. 

Without looking at Irons, she slid off her left shoe and found a good vein between her toes.

"An interesting trick..." Irons remarked, casually. "Commonly used by street-junkies, isn't it?" 

"I believe so, my Master." She nodded and injected herself, closing her eyes. Within a few minutes, she would be impervious to anything that he cared to throw her way.

Irons smiled fondly as he watched her slowly relax under the influence of the drug. In Cailean, he had what he would never have in Ian, a servant both loyal and lethal who was also totally controllable. Ian displayed an alarming streak of independence, something which Irons believed had long since been beaten out of Cailean. Ian existed to serve Irons, and to serve the Wielder. Cailean existed only to serve Irons, in whatever way he asked her to, no matter how distasteful she may have found it.

"_Now_ are you ready for bed?"

"Yes, my Master."

He nodded. "Splendid. There is, however, one thing that we must discuss first."

"Of course, my Master." Cailean's voice was calm, but she felt suddenly anxious, afraid of what he might now want of her.

"You have now spoken to fair Sara twice."

"Yes, my Master..." she said, her anxiety increasing.

"Your assessment of her?"

"She is a strong woman with a strong Will. She is charming when she cares to be and kind when it suits her, but equally capable of being... less than forgiving."

Irons nodded. "Go ahead, Cailean. Surely you have more to say of her than that?"

Cailean nodded slowly, feeling relieved by the direction of the questioning. It seemed that, perhaps, all he really wanted to do was test the value of the psychology degree that he had forced her to get. She was more than willing to supply a vague profile of Lady Sara if it meant avoiding more direct questions about herself or Ian. 

"She is annoyed by attempts to control or direct her behavior. She speaks her mind readily without fear of repercussion. Her profession indicates that she is fascinated by death, although she would likely only admit to being disgusted by it. Death follows her, but she also follows death. In so doing, she is, in her own way, acknowledging the basic duality of life."

"And what is the basic duality of life?" Irons asked her, interested to see how many of her childhood lessons she still retained.

"Death cannot exist without life. Life leads to death. But likewise, life could not continue without death. Death leads to life. The same is true of good and evil, light and darkness, freedom and servitude."

Irons nodded. "You say that Sara is strong. Is this strength merely physical?"

She shook her head. The almost constant pain there was beginning to recede as the drug took effect. "She has passed the Periculum. This indicates a great strength of Will and a desire to endure in this life. That _any_ woman could pass the Periculum in the times of crisis that it inevitably occurs in speaks to a strength that surpasses and transcends the physical. This is what separates true Wielders from Pretenders."

Irons nodded. "But would you say that she is also physically strong?"

"The Witchblade favors women who are so. It then increases their natural abilities. Therefore, she must be very strong indeed."

"Could _you_ defeat her in hand to hand combat?" Irons asked, trying to sound as thought the question was a hypothetical one.

"Not while she wore the Witchblade, my Master."

"Could you overcome her in some other way?"

Cailean was beginning to feel somewhat dreamy and very much at peace. The question did not seem at all odd or sinister to her, so she answered honestly. "Perhaps by subterfuge or if I were to take her by surprise."

Irons nodded, satisfied. "Cailean, it's time I told you why I have recalled you to the States."

"Yes, my Master..."

"As you are aware, Sara has passed the Periculum. This troubles me greatly."

"Why, my Master?"

"Because I can not control her. I had hoped to be able to control the Witchblade by controlling the woman who wears it. Since the Periculum, Sara has only grown stronger, harder to control. Therefore, I no longer see fit to allow her to wear my property on her wrist. You will retrieve it from her."

"My Master, now that she has passed the Periculum, the Witchblade will not willingly leave her while she remains alive and healthy..." Cailean pointed out.

"That is true, but I _do_ want my property back. If fair Sara must die to accomplish this, it would be regrettable, of course, but also necessary."

Cailean glanced up at Irons with wide eyes. He was as good as ordering her to kill Sara. Even in her drug-induced haze, she recognized that, and knew that Sara's death would crush Ian. She also recognized that Irons knew how Ian would react as well. He simply did not care.

"Do you understand, Cailean?" Irons asked when she did not immediately answer.

She nodded. "Yes, my Master."

He smiled at her. "There's a good girl. Now, of course, we don't want to mention this to Ian. He's grown rather fond of her. Do _not_ mention this to him, Cailean. That is an order." His tone was gentle, that of an indulgent parent, but Cailean knew better. He would kill her in a heartbeat if he disobeyed in this. She was not, for all her value to him, irreplaceable.

Cailean nodded slowly. It had occurred to her that the Witchblade could be very useful to her, but that Ian would not be able to understand that. She could use the Witchblade to purchase freedom for both of them. "Don't worry, my Master. I will _not_ tell Ian."

"That's a good girl." He rose and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her. "Bed time, dear."

Cailean nodded, grateful for the drug that allowed her mind to almost escape the bounds of her body. "Yes, my Master."

***

Ian could not sleep. His thoughts were alternately tormented by his embarrassment over all that had passed with Lady Sara at the party, concern for Cailean, and revulsion over the way that Irons had touched him earlier, which always led right back into concern for Cailean. 

He was not surprised when she stole into his room several hours later.

_Did he hurt you?_

_No, Ian._ She looked up at him. _I love you, Ian. Don't ever let anything convince you otherwise._

_I could never believe anything else, Cailean. _

_Promise me, Ian. _

_I'll always love you, Cailean. You know that. Why are you acting like this?_

_Our Master seems to sense that we are closer to each other than we are to him..._ Cailean lied easily. The drug eliminated most of the guilt that she should have felt over the lie. The knowledge that she was doing it for Ian took care of the rest. _He will try to drive a wedge between us._ This was not a lie and they both knew it.

_He will never succeed, Cailean._

"Can I sleep here tonight, Ian? I feel very lonely for some reason."

"Of course you can." Ian helped her into the bed and tucked her in. __

_Cailean, my beloved sister, you will never be alone as long as I draw breath._

_I love you, Ian._

Cailean sighed and wrapped her arms around her brother, curling up against him. This was a habit that they had picked up as quite young children. Whenever Irons had hurt one of them, the other would be there for them. After a beating or some other humiliation, neither was able to sleep without the other there to comfort them.

Ian fell asleep quickly, lulled by Cailean's familiar presence. Cailean lay awake for many hours, considering what her Master had ordered her to do. She frequently glanced at Ian, who smiled in his sleep as he never did in waking, perhaps dreaming of Lady Sara. Lady Sara whom Cailean had been ordered to kill for no other reason, she knew, than because the woman had the strength to resist Irons.

A tear trickled down Ian's cheek as he slept, and Cailean gently smoothed it away, not bothering to do the same as her own tears began to fall. Ian loved Sara, and Cailean loved Ian, which made her reluctant to harm Sara. But Ian had spent his life as a slave, the same as Cailean. He would never possess Sara, or her love, until he was his own master, until Irons no longer ruled over him.

She would do it, she finally decided, but not for Irons. She was done being controlled by him. Ian would probably hate her forever for it, but she _would_ do as Irons ordered. For Ian.


	7. Talismaniac

**Chapter 7 -- Talismaniac**

"Hey, Chief!" Gabriel said cheerfully, leaning into Sara's office and waving a large manila envelope in her direction. He was wearing one of his patented Gabriel Bowman outfits: white shirt with three or four buttons undone, paisley vest, embroidered bellbottoms, and platform shoes.

Sara looked up from the report she was filing. "Hey, Gabriel. Come in. Close the door." She grinned and waved him in, surprised, as always, by both his efficiency and his fashion sense. If it could really even be called that.

Gabriel nodded and slid into the office, closing the door behind him. "Where's your partner?" he asked, walking over to Sara and opening the envelope.

Sara shrugged. "Principal's office. Dante wanted him for something."

"Huh." Gabriel frowned. "Nothing wrong, I hope?" Her partner might have been a little uptight, but he seemed like a basically good guy who did not deserve Dante's brand of crap. 

Sara shook her head. "Don't think so. At least, Jake didn't seem worried." She rose and grabbed a chair for him, pulling it next to her own and laying the paperwork aside. "That was quick..." she observed.

"It's called the internet." Gabriel grinned at her. "It's all about the, ah, _free_ exchange of information."

Sara laughed. "So, what you got for me?" she asked, sitting down again. 

Gabriel sat down and smiled up at her. "Two things, both pretty interesting." He riffled through the contents of the envelope before pulling out a sheet of glossy paper which contained a printout of what Sara saw was an ancient Roman mosaic. He flipped it over on the desk before she could get a good look at its contents. "This was done in the first century A.D. Depicts a woman who was a source of constant annoyance to the Romans." He cleared his throat and continued. "Queen Boedicia of the Celts. Gave the Witchblade to Cathain when she couldn't control it herself."

Gabriel turned it over, allowing Sara to see that the woman depicted in the mosaic looked almost identical to Cailean.

"I always figured she'd have red hair..." Sara muttered, a little confused to be looking at a 2000 year-old image of Cailean. She supposed that it really should not surprise her that much, considering that she had seen old and ancient images of herself as well. "Wow... Okay." She nodded. "You said that she..."

"Gave the Witchblade to Cathain when she realized that she herself could not control it." Gabriel nodded. "The two were supposed to have been pretty tight even before Cathain submitted herself as a candidate for the Witchblade."

"Tight like... friends?" Sara asked.

Gabriel nodded. "Boedicia kind of took Cathain under her wing. Her brother taught Cathain how to fight and--"

"_Brother_?" Sara interrupted, thinking of the visions of the previous night. 'Now you begin to learn' he had said. Had that been Boedicia's brother?

Gabriel nodded, not noticing her surprise. "Yeah. She'd have probably taught Cathain herself, except that she was busy organizing a massive resistance against the Romans at this time. She was one hell of a fighter herself, you know."

"Do we know anything about the brother?" Sara asked, thinking of the visions of the night before and wondering what kind of relationship she had shared with Nottingham in their previous lives. Had they been friends? Lovers, even? Well, obviously they had at least once, but was that normal or a fluke? Sara was faintly troubled that she even cared. She reminded herself that she was a cop, and that any relationship with Nottingham would be nothing but trouble.

Gabriel shook his head, not noticing Sara's reflective mood. "Not much. I can try to dig something up if you want."

Sara shook her head, not entirely sure that she was ready for the kind of answers that Gabriel might end up providing. "No, Gabriel, that's okay. Just curious."

He nodded. "Well, if I should come across anything, I'll let you know."

Sara nodded. "Thanks. That was good work, Gabriel."

He laughed and shook his head. "I said I had two things, Chief, remember?" he asked, always eager to impress Sara. He knew full well that she was never going to think of him as anything more than a 'good kid', a little brother who happened to also be a useful ally, but a guy could dream. He was happy with Sara as just a friend, but he occasionally wished for more even as he recognized the wish as unrealistic.

Sara nodded. "Right. What was the other one?"

"Here..." 

Gabriel reached back into the envelope and pulled out a black and white photograph of a woman who looked just like Sara. From her style of clothing, she recognized her as Elizabeth Bronte, with her arm around the shoulder of a woman who looked like Cailean. Both women were smiling widely, and you could tell by the expressions on their faces that they were the best of friends.

Gabriel gave Sara a few minutes to absorb the contents of the picture before carrying on. "This picture was taken a few weeks before Bronte went to Germany. The woman with Bronte is Natasha Dmitrov, a Russian Jew by birth. Years earlier, Dmitrov had defected from Russian to England where she was to become a valuable and trusted member of their intelligence community. She was Bronte's spy-master when this picture was taken, taught her what she needed to know about the job she was being sent to do."

Sara stared at the picture intently, the Witchblade grew warm on her wrist and the stone became a swirling mass of color. She suddenly found herself engulfed in another vision.

Cailean, dressed in an early-40's business-suit, sat behind a desk, holding a framed picture. She looked up at Sara's entry. "Elizabeth. Thank you for coming. Have a seat." She set the picture down and rose. "Can I offer you a drink?"

"I wouldn't say no to a spot of that scotch you're rumored to keep on hand, Natasha."

Laughing, she poured Elizabeth a cup and handed it to her before sitting down again.

"Is that your brother?" Elizabeth asked, pointing to the picture. Natasha had mentioned him once or twice before. He had been in Poland at the time of his death, one of the first casualties of the German aggression, even before war had been formally declared. 

Natasha nodded. "That's my Gregori." She handed the picture of the dark-haired man to Elizabeth.

"He looks familiar..." Elizabeth remarked quietly. "What beautiful eyes..."

Natasha smiled sadly, nodding. "You would have liked him, I think, and he you."

Elizabeth nodded. "He looks like a good man."

"He was." Natasha nodded distractedly, her face pained. "Damned Nazis..."

"What did you want to see me about, Natasha?" Elizabeth asked gently, hoping to distract her friend from her grief. Although Natasha seldom volunteered information about her past, Elizabeth knew that Natasha had endured more than her share of grief.

Natasha composed herself and returned her attention to Elizabeth. "I understand that you will be beginning your assignment in Germany soon, my dear."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, that's right. There's an S.S. Officer..."

Natasha held up her hand to forestall Elizabeth. "I'm familiar with your mission parameters, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth nodded. Of course Natasha would know all about the assignment. She had probably been one of the architects behind it.

"Nervous?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Slightly."

"You'll do fine." Natasha smiled reassuringly and rose again, closing and locking the door. "But there's something we need to talk about before you go, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth nodded, not at all surprised the Natasha had locked the door. It was her typical way of announcing that they were going to discuss 'business'. "Sure, Natasha. What?"

Natasha sat at her desk again and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. She drew two interlocking circles on it and slid it across the desk to Elizabeth. "This may sound patently insane, Elizabeth, but do you have a scar that looks like this?"

Elizabeth stared at the paper in confusion for a few moments before slowly nodding. "But how did you..."

"A guess, nothing more..." Natasha lied, her suspicions confirmed.

"That is... one hell of a guess, Tasha." Elizabeth stared at her uncertainly. "How did you know? What does this mean?"

"The circles represent polar opposites. You might think of them as good and evil. They exist together, but also in opposition, you see? And... one can not naturally occur without the other."

Elizabeth shook her head in confusion. "I don't understand, Natasha... I got that scar in a riding accident 11 months ago. It doesn't _mean_ anything."

"It does, though. That's why I wanted to talk to you. Do you trust me, Elizabeth?" she asked gently, knowing that Elizabeth would have to be handled carefully. Months of observation had told her that Elizabeth _was_ ready to believe what Natasha had to tell her, but only on her own terms. She could not be forced to believe, only gently nudged in belief's direction. 

Elizabeth nodded without hesitation. She was confused certainly, but nothing could change the trust she felt for her friend and teacher. Elizabeth was, by nature, a woman who constantly sought out the truth, and Natasha had always been completely straightforward with her in every respect. She trusted her more than she trusted any native-born Briton. "Always, Tasha."

"When you're in Germany, an opportunity may present itself to you. I'm here to tell you to seize it."

Elizabeth shook her head. "What kind of opportunity? I don't understand..."

Natasha took the sheet of paper and began sketching on it again, a simple metal bracelet with a large stone. She showed it to Elizabeth. "Familiar?"

Elizabeth shook her head. Even though there was something faintly familiar about the object depicted in the sketch, she was quite sure that she had never seen anything like it before. "No."

Natasha regarded her thoughtfully. "It's called the Digitablum Magae, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth frowned, recalling her high-school Latin that had been largely forgotten in favor of the German that Natasha had been teaching her. "The Witch's Glove?" she finally asked, looking to Natasha for confirmation of her translation.

Natasha nodded. "Yes. Or sometimes the Witch's Blade. Look." She pulled one of her gloves off and showed the back of her hand to Elizabeth. A scar in the form of a pair of interlocking circles marked her there.

Elizabeth frowned and rubbed her leg, just above the knee, where she wore an identical scar. "I don't... I don't understand, Natasha."

"My brother and I were raised by a man..." She shook her head, unwilling to go any farther into that aspect of her past than this. "Before he died, he forced me to don the Witch's Blade. It rejected me and marked me as you see. But you... You have been marked without ever having seen it. It calls to you, Elizabeth."

"It _calls_ to me?" Elizabeth asked skeptically, shaking her head. She had always known that the Russian was superstitious, but this was beyond that. This was mystical nonsense, completely out of character for the normally rational woman.

Natasha nodded, ignoring Elizabeth's obvious credulity. "You dream, Elizabeth, about yourself, only it is not you. It is a woman who bears your face, but who lives in another place and time. A Gaelic warrior, a French peasant-girl turned savior of her people, Cleopatra of Egypt, a nurse in the first Great War. Do I speak false, Elizabeth?" Natasha was guessing, drawing upon what she had learned of the Blade to reach a logical conclusion. Her effort paid off.

Elizabeth shook her head in confusion. She had never spoken of these dreams to anyone. "How did you..."

"These are not dreams, Elizabeth. They are memories."

"_Memories_?"

"Of past lives. Lives where you have worn the Witch's Blade. Women chosen by the Blade, worthy to wear it, not like me. These women, Elizabeth, they are you..."

"What _is_ it, though?" Elizabeth asked. Against all reason, she found herself believing the woman.

Natasha chose her words carefully. Revealing too much about the Blade would unwise. In truth, Elizabeth would only believe most of what there was to know of the Blade once she had experienced it for herself. "The Nazis believe that it is an Object of Power."

"Hitler collects Objects of Power..." Elizabeth said, beginning to see perceive why Natasha was bringing this up now.

"Yes." Natasha nodded. "But the Nazis are wrong."

"What? It has no power?"

"It _is_ Power." Natasha regarded Elizabeth gravely. "With this on your wrist, you can change the course of this war. And of history itself."

"With a piece of jewelry?" Elizabeth asked skeptically.

Natasha nodded. "If it falls to you, accept it. If it comes within your reach, seize it by whatever means you can. Take it by force or by subterfuge, only take it. This is more than your destiny, Elizabeth, it is who you are."

Natasha stared gravely at Elizabeth. Everything that she had said was true, but she still worried for her friend, Wielder or Pretender, no one who wore the Blade was ever the same. Elizabeth's life would not be easy once the Blade fell to her, but it was necessary. Natasha preferred the idea of seeing the Blade on her friend's wrist to seeing it adorning some mistress of Adolph Hitler, or, more likely, one after another of his women as the Blade used and discarded them. In the hands of such Pretenders, the Blade could do immeasurable damage. In the hands of a good and worthy woman like Elizabeth, there was no telling how much good it could do.

Elizabeth stared at the picture of Gregori, frowning thoughtfully. She picked it up, wondering what kind of man the dark, attractive Russian had been. He was so familiar, like she had known him, although this was impossible, but there was something about those eyes... She stared deeply into them, willing the man in the picture to come alive, to tell her where they had met before.

When Elizabeth did not move for several minutes, Natasha rose and moved to stand next to her, waving her hand in front of her face.

"Liz?"

Sara abruptly found herself sitting in her own office again, with Gabriel waving his hand in front of her face.

"Sara? Pez?"

She looked up, shaking her head to clear it. "Oh, sorry, Gabriel." 

"What happened?" Gabriel asked curiously. "Vision?" he asked, feeling more than a little freaked out by Sara's trance-like state. He wondered what her coworkers made of this when they saw it.

"Um..." Nodding, she pointed to the Witchblade. "Dmitrov told Elizabeth about it for the first time. Told her to do whatever it took to get her hands on it."

"Wow..." Gabriel was suitably impressed.

Danny, who had been observing the pair since shortly after Gabriel's arrival, made his presence known. "There are no coincidences, Sara..." Danny informed her, causing her to jump slightly. "Sorry to startle you. Guess it's an... occupational hazard." With an apologetic grin, he was gone.

"No coincidences..." Sara muttered.

"What?" Gabriel asked, frowning. 

She shook her head. "It's just something that I'm hearing a lot these days. Both of these women, Boedicia and Dmitrov, _wore_ the Witchblade. But Cailean never has. Why?"

"How do you know she hasn't?"

"Her brother told me." Sara hoped that Gabriel did not press the issue. After all, the only thing that he knew for sure about Ian was that he had once walked into his shop and threatened him. Even his name was unlikely to mean anything to Gabriel unless he had seen it in Fortune or Forbes in an article about Irons.

"Is that why you were asking about Boedicia's brother?" Gabriel asked, wondering why she had not mentioned that this woman had a brother before now. He frowned, wondering what else she was keeping from him, and why. He decided not to pursue the matter. If Sara was keeping something from him, she probably had a very good reason for doing so. 

Sara shook her head. "No. I just want to know..." She smiled at Gabriel. "Well, I _want_ to know a whole lot of things, but right now I'll settle for who this woman is and how she's involved in my life."

Gabriel shrugged, knowing from Sara's behavior that the matter of the brother was closed. "Maybe she isn't this time."

"I don't buy that. No coincidences, remember?"

He nodded, accepting it because Sara did. "Both of these women were friends and mentors to previous Wielders. Maybe she's meant to be the same to you."

Sara nodded slowly. "I can't shake the idea that something's wrong this time." _Something named Irons._

"Well, I hope this helps, Sara."

She nodded and patted his shoulder. "It makes a lot of things clearer. Thanks, Gabriel."

"Should I keep looking?" he asked.

She shook her head. "That's okay. I'm sure that all the stories will end up pretty similarly." She held up the photo of Elizabeth and Natasha. "Can I keep this?" she asked.

Gabriel nodded and shrugged. "It's a copy anyway." He rose. "So, I'll keep working on the diary..." he trailed off when Jake entered the office.

Sara quickly slid the photograph into a drawer, irritated by Jake's timing, glad he had not come earlier. "You do that, Gabriel. Thanks for everything."

"No problem, Chief." He smiled at Sara and then at Jake. "Hey, Detective McCarty. Bye."

"What is it today?" Jake asked after Gabriel had left, wondering what the deal was with Sara and her strange young friend. Was she hiding something? "A monkey's paw that grants wishes?"

Sara was going to simply ignore him, but changed her mind. Irritated by his attitude as well as his timing, she decided to tease him a little instead. "Nah... They tend to be cursed. Gabriel tries to avoid cursed items. They have a habit of crashing his mainframe." She bent over her paperwork again. "Not to mention screwing up his cellular signal..."

Jake just stared at her. She _was_ hiding something from him, but what? Affair? No, that was as ridiculous as cursed monkey's paws that interfered with cell signals. Gabriel Bowman had no more chance with Sara than, say that freak Nottingham. No, Sara needed a stable, sane man in her life. Someone like him. Jake quickly reminded himself that it did not pay to get involved while on undercover assignments and, for the first time in his career, felt regretful of the fact. He bent over his work, tuning out Sara's voice.

***

Since he had skipped lunch to visit Sara, Gabriel grabbed a pizza and a six-pack of those flavored coffee drinks on his way back to the office. 

"Mmm, smells good..." a woman's voice said as he rounded the corner in the hallway outside his office. "Coffee, too. I like your taste." She smiled warmly at him.

Gabriel stopped and stared at the woman before him. She was quite tall, and absolutely gorgeous in her bell-bottomed jeans and black, scoop-neck sweater. "Um, hi..." Gabriel said, completely failing to recognize this as the woman who's mug-shot he still had in his shirt pocket. 

It was an easy mistake to make. Carefully applied makeup had not only covered up the bruises on her face, but also given her more color than she would normally have. The swelling on her lip had also gone down substantially. An extra coat of lipstick had covered that discoloration and also filled in the small gap that the split had produced.

She was all smiles and carried herself in a completely different manner from the stone-faced woman in the mug-shot. It was an act that Cailean had perfected years ago, somewhere in between her actual personality and the debutante demeanor that she was often forced to assume. Just a regular girl, somewhat distracted by the man in front of her. This was the Cailean who picked men up in bars, invited them to her hotel room, drugged them, and then spent a leisurely evening extracting valuable and sensitive information from them.

Over breakfast, Cailean had asked Ian how, if Sara resisted Irons, she got information on the Witchblade. Unbidden by Ian, an image of this young man had come into his mind, along with a memory of him refusing to be intimidated by Ian's threats. Ian had expressed great admiration for this young man, referring to him as Sara's only true friend and suggesting that he was not nearly as mercenary as he liked to pretend to be. 

Like a good kid sister, Cailean had teased Ian mercilessly on his choice of words when he had threatened Gabriel. 'I can make you pray for difficult' indeed. Looking back, even Ian had agreed that it had been a silly turn of phrase. He admitted that he was lucky that Gabriel had not laughed in his face, which would have made it awfully hard for him to maintain his threatening demeanor.

After she had finished breakfast, she had made.

Cailean smiled and relieved him of the pizza and coffee as he fumbled with his keys. "Let me help you with that, looks like you've got your hands full... I was beginning to think that you were closed for the day."

"Nah, just had to run across town on business."

"Ever the entrepreneur, huh?" she asked, handing him the pizza once he had opened the door. She followed him inside, looking around curiously. He had left the radio on, and Smiling Faces by The Undisputed Truth was playing loudly.

He grinned at her, turning the radio down but not off. Cailean reflected that he would have done better to listen to the advice the song offered. "Well, not _always_..." He put the pizza box down and returned his attention to her. "So, is there something I can help you with?"

She nodded, then abruptly turned her attention to a 1000 year-old urn. "Oh! Mayan, isn't it? Funerary?"

Gabriel nodded, smiling. Not only was she pretty, she also had great taste. He carefully picked it up and placed it on an empty table so that she could examine it more closely. "Remains of a princess. It's just under 1000 years old."

"They don't make them like this any more..." she muttered appreciatively, examining the urn. She looked up suddenly, given him a self-conscious grin. "Don't let me keep you from eating your lunch. Pizza's not nearly as good when it's cold."

"I'll just reheat it. Was there something in particular you were looking for?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "Information."

"Information, huh? Well, as my friends say, I'm full of it."

Cailean laughed and shook her head. "_And_ he has a sense of humor. If you don't watch out, I may have to take you home to meet mother." She laughed again, smiling widely and giving him a wink. It had taken her three years to perfect that wink.

Gabriel smiled at her. She had a pretty smile and a beautiful laugh. "Information on what?" he asked, resting his hands on the table and grinning at her.

She turned so that her back was to the table. She leaned on it and smiled at Gabriel, sidling closer, just barely invading his personal space. It was a calculated move. He might not notice that she was closer than was socially acceptable for strangers, but he would notice _her_. "Well, I'm doing my Dissertation right now..." she said, casually turning her head to look at him.

Gabriel nodded. Pretty and smart. Sweet. "Cool. What on?"

"Objects of Power." She smiled again and gave a helpless shrug. "I'm afraid I've run into some serious roadblocks, but a friend of mine turned me on to this place. So here I am."

Gabriel smiled again, but he was having a hard time telling if this woman was more interested in him or in his expertise. "You know, I don't think I caught your name."

"Christine." She smiled disarmingly.

"Hi, Christine." He nodded. "So, uh... Objects of Power, huh?"

She nodded. "Yeah... Especially those that were of interest to the Nazis during the Second World War."

"Indiana Jones fan?" Gabriel asked with a grin.

"Actually, I preferred his father. Sean Connery is _way_ cuter than Harrison will ever be." She shrugged again. In that sweater, leaning back like she was, the effect was... memorable.

Gabriel laughed, getting a little distracted by the view. "Okay. Um... let's see. From what I know of the period, the Nazis were mainly interested in religious artifacts. That what you're after?" he asked, trying to narrow in on exactly what it was that she was looking for and, at the same time, return his focus to work. 

She nodded. "Yes. They were trying to lend themselves a measure of credibility that way, I suppose." She gave another shrug and an absent smile.

"Well, I don't exactly keep the Arc of the Covenant lying around the shop..." 

"Ah, but I'll bet that if anyone could get it for me it _would_ be you." She smiled at him and shook her head, leaning a little closer. "I've no real interest in acquiring any of the items that the Nazis themselves laid hands on. I'm more interested, as I think I said, in information about these items."

Gabriel smiled. "Hmm... so, what you're saying is that you're more interested in my brains than in my Adonis-like good looks?"

"Funny, I don't recall saying anything even remotely similar to _that_..." Cailean muttered, running her finger along his shirt until she came to a closed button. She tugged playfully at it, a serene expression on her face. 

Gabriel cleared his throat, more than a little startled. He had expected, at the very least, a disapproving look in response to his flirtatiousness. "Well, information about these things tends to come a lot cheaper. Anything specific?" he asked in a near-whisper.

Cailean grinned and  nodded. "There's tons of information available on things like the Arc and the Grail and those things, but I keep coming across this reference to some piece of jewelry in the collection." She reached up and absently straightened his collar, smoothing the fabric of his shirt down when she was done. 

"Jewelry?" Gabriel asked, staring down at her hands.

"Mmm-hmm..." As she smoothed his shirt, she let her cool hands brush his bare chest as well. "Nothing on what it is or what it's supposed to do, though, which was enough to grab my attention given the volumes of material available on almost everything else in the collection. I know it's not a lot to go on, but I thought if anyone might know..." She frowned thoughtfully, chewing her tongue. "Oh, and it's supposed to have some kind of large, red stone in it..." She slid her hands up his neck and began rearranging his hair.

"The Digitablum Magae..." Gabriel provided, smiling widely and licking his suddenly dry lips. "Witchblade." Damn she smelled good. Every time she moved, he got a whiff of vanilla. And her hands were so cool against his flushed face.

She looked surprised for a moment, then smiled widely, dropping her hands. "I knew you'd know! Like I said, I keep coming across references to it, including one that an SS Lieutenant stole it from Hitler's collection, and... something about the Vatican, but nothing about what it is or what its powers are supposed to be, or what happened to it after that. Can you at least point me in the proper direction so that I can get some information on it?" She smiled shyly. "I'd be really grateful for anything..." she said softly, covering his hand with one of hers. "Can you tell me who might be able to tell me some more about it? Then I won't have to waste any more of your time..."

Gabriel swallowed hard but did not try to free his hand. "N... No! You... you don't have to go anywhere!"

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't I?" she asked in a low voice, giving him a quizzical stare.

Gabriel winced. He was definitely not at his smoothest today. "Wh... what I mean is... I know all sorts of stuff about it, actually!" He smiled widely. "I can save you a lot of research."

She gave him a grateful smile. "Oh, that's just great! How can I ever repay you?"

Gabriel's heart was pounding as though it was trying to escape his chest. "Well... this... this information isn't going to come cheap, you know..." Gabriel began, wondering how much, if anything, he should tell her. She was only a student, but Sara would have been royally ticked off if she had found out that he was talking about the Witchblade to anyone else. Still, there could hardly be any harm in just _talking_. He inhaled deeply, drinking in her vanilla-scent.

"Well, I'm a broke college-student, so I don't have much..." She smiled helplessly and shrugged again, since she had noticed that he seemed to enjoy that. She leaned a little closer and widened her eyes.

Gabriel smiled. "Tell you what, I think we can work something out."

She regarded him curiously. "What kind of something?" she asked in a low, emotionless voice. The impression she had gotten from Ian was one of a business-oriented young man. She had not expected him to try to take advantage of her, even in the face of her flirtations.

He smiled innocently, nodding. "Well, you know, in a business like this, word of mouth is the best advertising I can get. You're in what... an Anth program?" 

She nodded. "Religious studies, actually, but it's covered by the Anth department."

He grinned. "Cool. Like I said, word of mouth. I hook you up, you tell your friends about me. I've got a web-site, too. Deal?"

"That would be just wonderful. I would have told all of my girl-friends about you anyway..." She smiled, pleased to see that Ian had been right in his appraisal of the man. 

"Cool." Gabriel smiled and nodded. "Here, let me give you my card, too." He pulled one from his vest pocket and scribbled his phone-number on the back. "That's my, uh... personal cell. Office number and e-mail on the front..." he trailed off, smiling at her.

She smiled and tucked in into the back pocket of her jeans, giving it a little pat. "Thank you. I'll be sure to spread the word."

He smiled and nodded. "Um... here, let me... give you some cards for your friends, too." Gabriel reached across the table and blindly grabbed a handful of cards, not taking his eyes off of her.

She accepted them with a smile, tucking them into her purse. "So, let's talk about the Digit..." she trailed off in frustration, rolling her eyes.

"The Witchblade. It's called the Witchblade in English."

She gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Mister Bowman. My Latin is... well, it leaves a bit to be desired."

"Gabriel, please."

She nodded. "Gabriel. The angelic herald."

Gabriel bowed his head and smiled up at her, leaning a little closer until they were almost touching. "There's, um... very little about me that's angelic."

"Are you flirting with me, Gabriel?" Cailean smiled curiously, encouraging him with her eyes.

"Mmm... Yes." He nodded unabashedly. "They'd have to take away my Man card if I didn't." He paused. "Does it, uh... bug you?"

Cailean smiled and gave a little shake of her head. "Not at all. Hell, my Woman card would be in jeopardy if you didn't at least try."

She grinned and laughed softly, feeling more than a little regretful that there was absolutely no chance of getting to know him in any serious way. He seemed like a very sweet young man. And here she was, seducing him into betraying his friend, as if the whole business was not unsavory enough without involving another innocent party. It was at moments like this that Cailean despised herself the most. When the subjects of these sorts of interrogations were politicians or gun-runners, she felt no regret at all, either for the act she put on or for the drugged interrogation that followed it. At least she would not have to drug this young man for her information, but she still hated herself for involving him.

When that though threatened to overwhelm her, she firmly reminded herself that the information she was trying to get from him was not a betrayal of Sara at all. It was probably the only way to save her life. That made what was going on here a good thing, she told herself firmly. Gabriel Bowman, who had never hesitated to provide Sara with information, even when it was dangerous for him to do so, now had an opportunity to keep her from death. All the same, though she wished that she could have told him the truth. She liked him. He was... harmless. He made her feel like a normal woman.

She returned her attention to the present, smiling more widely at Gabriel. "Tell me about this Witchblade..." she asked in a more business-like tone, not wanting to abuse this young man's trust any more than she already had. He would have other work to do as well.

"_The_ Witchblade. It's a one-of-a-kind. There's nothing else like it in the world, so far as I know." Gabriel offered her a chair and sat down opposite her, getting down to business. There would be time to flirt later. There was _always_ time for the finer things. "It's powerful. It's, um, a weapon that takes the form of a bracelet until it's used, then it transforms itself into an armored gauntlet with a blade that sticks out the end."

"Mind if I tape this?" she asked abruptly, reaching into her purse again and pulling out a small cassette recorded. "That way I don't have to concentrate on writing it all down."

Gabriel nodded. "Go ahead."

"Thanks." She grinned and turned it on. "Go on. Bracelet that turns into a weapon. How's it do that?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Not sure. The wearer kind of wills it to happen."

"The wearer wills it? Mentally? So, I'm guessing there must be a lot of strength of character required to make this thing work?"

Gabriel nodded. "Only certain women _can_ make it work." He paused , thinking of the long line of Pretenders out there. "Strike that. Only certain women can _control _it fully. Strength of character's important, and there are lots of mentions in the literature of only members of a specific bloodline being able to wear the Blade, but it also pops up all over the world. One generation, it'll be in China, the next it'll be in Ireland, so what they mean by bloodline is up for debate. But the women are very special, there are certain criteria they have to meet, but, again, what those are is open for debate. There are lots of different theories, but all agree that, whatever the criteria, these woman are as one-of-a-kind as the Witchblade itself."

She nodded slowly. "So, when one of these women stumbles across this thing, she takes it up? How many suitable women can you find in a given generation?" she asked off-handedly.

"Only one. That's the thing."

"So, what if she doesn't find it?"

"Then no one wields it in that generation. Of course, events usually conspire to bring it to her or her to it..." Gabriel said, thinking of Elizabeth Bronte who had been advised to find the Witchblade and of Sara who had been found by it.

Cailean nodded. "So, there's _never_ more than one possible candidate per generation?"

Gabriel shook his head. "Never."

"Huh." She paused, seeming to think. "So, what happens if someone who's not worthy puts it on?"

"Um, depends. It's supposed to be very painful. It usually kills men outright. With women, sometimes it'll use them for a while before it kills them."

"_Use _them? You make the thing sound intelligent."

"It might be. There are numerous references to it choosing who it wants to wear it that seem to indicate that it might have at least a rudimentary level of awareness."

"You said that it 'uses' unworthies? How?"

"Um... Kind of like... maybe it has a plan for how things should be in the world. So... it'll use a Pretender to help along its agenda if it has to."

"Agenda? It has an agenda?"

Gabriel nodded and repeated what Sara had told him after the Periculum, the only reliable information on the Witchblade's agenda that he had. "Bring balance to the universe, mainly. Good, evil, all that mystic crap."

"Little skeptical?"

He shrugged. "I probably should be, but I'm not. The Witchblade is all about balancing things out. When things get real bad, it arises to kind of... cleanse the human race of its sins or something. The Wielder, or sometimes the Pretender, is the instrument of that cleansing."

She nodded. "These Pretenders, can they control it, or does it control them?"

"They can _sort of_ control it until it's done with them."

"But it always betrays them in the end?"

He nodded. "True Wielders, too, according to everything I've read. It slips away from them when they need it most. It abandoned Joan of Arc as they were tying her to her stake. Just slipped off her wrist..."

"Sounds to me like it's using the true Wielders as well."

Gabriel shrugged. "I don't know. I think it's more like it... doesn't want to get buried with them. See, there's this theory that every Wielder is a reincarnation of the previous Wielder. So, when the time is right, it lets the old Wielder die so that the new one can be born."

"Interesting." Cailean nodded slowly, thoughtfully. Gabriel had just planted the seed of an idea in her head. "So the old Wielder has to die to make way for the new?"

He nodded. "Seems to work that way, yeah. Kind of a bummer, really."

"Yes, it is..." Cailean agreed gently. "But it _is_ how the world turns. One more question and then I'll let you get back to work."

Gabriel nodded, a little regretful that the conversation was coming to an end. "Ask away."

"You mentioned that the Witchblade has a habit of killing these Pretenders?"

Gabriel nodded. "Yeah."

"Is that inevitable? What if the Pretender takes it off before the Witchblade is done with it?"

"It kind of seems to be inevitable, yeah. Once you put it on, it doesn't always come back off. And it's supposed to be almost addictive. Even if you can get it off, there's always going to be this drive to have it again..." he told her. Sara had imparted this to him near the beginning of their relationship, telling him only that she knew it for a fact, without telling him how. He suspected that she might know someone who had tried the Witchblade on, though. Again, he did not press her for this information, knowing that she was probably protecting him by keeping it from him. He was reminded of the man who had threatened him shortly after Sara had first come to see him. Maybe he was the one, or, at the very least, represented the person.

Thinking of everything she knew of Irons, Cailean nodded. "Better than crack, huh?" she asked, doing her best not to smile at the irony of Irons being a bigger addict than she was. She failed.

Gabriel nodded, not catching the significance of her smile. "Basically, yeah."

She nodded and rose, returning the recorder to her purse. "I'm afraid I must be going now. Thank you so much for your time, Gabriel."

He rose quickly. "Hey, you want to go out for drinks or something some time?"

She smiled, genuinely regretful. "I'd like that very much, but I'm not going to be in town for very much longer. Next time I am, however, I will certainly look you up if you're agreeable."

He nodded, disappointed but still hopeful. "I'd like that."

She smiled at him. "I mean it. Next time I'm around, I _will_ look you up." _Even if it's in my next life._

He grinned. "Cool. Pizza?" He pointed towards the box.

She shook her head. "I'm afraid I really do have to go. I'm in town on business and I've already spent more time here than I should have. Thank you for everything, Gabriel. It was nice to meet you."

"You, too, Christine." As he walked her to the door, he remarked, "You know, you look _really_ familiar. Have we met?" He stopped and gave an embarrassed laugh. "Jeez, that came off sounding like a really lame pick-up, didn't it?"

She grinned and nodded, chuckling softly.

Laughing, Gabriel leaned against the door-frame, trying to appear nonchalant. "So, babe, what's your sign?"

Cailean's soft chuckle became a loud laugh. She shook her head and pointed helplessly at Gabriel, genuinely amused by the comeback. It took them several minutes to compose themselves. 

"Yield..." Cailean finally managed, still laughing softly. She smiled warmly at Gabriel, lightly touching his cheek. "I've always been partial to 'yield' myself."

Gabriel laughed, liking the answer. "Call me?"

She nodded. "Very next time I'm in town, Gabriel. I promise." With a final smile, Cailean turned and left the office. To her surprise, she found herself half-meaning her promise to him.

Gabriel stared after her thoughtfully. "I know I know her from somewhere..." he muttered, shaking his head. "Oh well, it'll come to me." Shrugging, he sat down to eat his pizza.


	8. Breach of Trust

**Chapter 8 -- Breach of Trust**

Cailean crouched on Sara's fire-escape, watching her sleep. It was an oppressively hot night, and dark, the moon concealed by a thick blanket of clouds. Lights from adjoining windows and nearby street-lamps seemed unable to penetrate the darkness, or perhaps this was merely a trick of Cailean's imagination, reflecting her own dark mood.

Although they had met only twice before in this life, and briefly, Sara was her friend, and more. In every life before, Cailean had been the Wielder's teacher and mentor as well as her friend, recognizing that the Witchblade was beyond her power and directing the Wielder in its direction, helping her learn all that she needed to know about it. In this life, her role had been perverted by Irons, just as Ian's usual role of Guardian had been. Cailean stared at her reflection in the window, sickened by the mockery she had become of what she should have been. 

"Just another Pretender..." she whispered to the image staring back at her. It hardly seemed fair, after all the pain she had gone through as a child to avoid donning the Witchblade, but her master had commanded and she _would_ obey, though not for reasons that he would be pleased with. Shaking her head, she slid the window open with shaking hands and slid inside.

"What are you doing?" Danny demanded.

She spun around, dropping into a defensive crouch. She relaxed her body when she saw Danny, but her mind raced. She had not expected to have to contend with Sara's guardian angel tonight. "Hello, Detective Woo..." she whispered, not wanting to wake Sara.

"What are you doing?" he asked, lowering his own voice for the same reason.

"Ian could not come tonight. Irons had other work for him." It happened to be true. Irons _had_ assigned Ian another task so that he could not protect Sara tonight. She smiled at Danny. "I guess Ian is not the only one who likes to watch her sleep."

If it had been possible for a ghost to blush, Danny would have been bright red at the implication. "Just looking in on her."

"Likewise..." Cailean told him. "It's good to know that she has two such guardians as you and Ian..." she muttered, staring across the room to Sara. "She's lovely when she sleeps."

"I know..." Danny muttered, relaxing.

"Peaceful, not like her waking self. No pain, no regret." _Lucky Sara._

Danny smiled fondly at his partner. "Yeah." He nodded. "Why did you come here tonight?"

"As I said, Ian could not come..." she told him calmly. "He asked me to look in on her."

"Nottingham hardly ever actually comes in."

"But he has had more first-hand experiences with our Lady. To see her this closely in an unguarded moment is a rare honor for me." She moved closer to the bed, picking up a pillow and turning it over in her hands. "She is as beautiful as Ian has told me. I can see now why he feels as he does towards her."

"And how exactly is that?" Danny asked quietly, staring at Sara.

"Don't you know?" Cailean asked, smiling at him. "How would _any_ man feel towards such a woman?"

"Guess you've got a point there..." Danny nodded slowly.

"All is not what it seems."

"I've noticed _that_, Cailean. But what does it have to do with Sara?"

"At present, everything." Cailean turned the pillow over in her hand once more, regarding Danny thoughtfully. "You must love her very much to remain in the world like this when you could cross and find peace."

"She's my partner. Partners protect each other, help each other out. Besides, peace is over-rated."

"Only if you have it." In a lightening-quick move, Cailean jumped onto the bed, kneeling on Sara's arms and pressing the pillow into her face.

"_What the hell are you doing_?" Danny demanded. "Get off her! Leave her alone!"

"I truly wish I could..." Cailean said softly, holding the pillow with one hand and reaching into her shirt pocket with the other.

 She pulled out a small syringe, uncapping it with her teeth, undeterred by Sara's struggles. The Witchblade refused to activate, as Cailean had guessed that it would.

"You were her _friend_!" Danny hissed. "In so many lives! What happened?" he demanded.

Cailean easily found a vein and emptied the syringe into it. "Ken Irons happened. But don't worry. I plan to make him pay."

"Cailean, don't do this to her..." Danny begged.

"I have to. If I don't bring the Witchblade back, he'll kill me _and_ Ian. My brother deserves to be free of that monster, so I am going to bring the Witchblade to him and use it to buy our freedom."

Danny shook his head. "Cailean, no. He'll never let either of you be free. He'll take the Witchblade and kill you. He'll kill Nottingham..."

Cailean bowed her head. "I know. That's why I must kill him. That's why I need the Witchblade." She kept the pillow over Sara's face, not depressing it hard enough to interfere with her breathing, preferring to let the poison work its way painlessly through her system.

"Cailean, you can't do this..." Danny whispered frantically. "It's not who you are."

"It's who I was _made_..." Cailean told him, her tears soaking the pillow over Sara's face.

Sara's struggles were easing, her breath rattling in her chest. Abruptly, she went limp under Cailean.

"_Sara, no!_" Danny shouted, grabbing her hand. "How could you do this to her?" Danny demanded of Cailean, tears in his eyes.

"I did it to save her life..." Cailean told him, rolling off of Sara. She picked up her right hand and easily removed the Witchblade, slipping it into her pocket.

Danny stared at her with wide eyes as she produced another syringe and again injected Sara. "Nothing is what it seems..." Danny muttered, shaking his head in amazement. "That was a _bluff_?"

Swallowing hard and fighting back the tears that threatened, she nodded. "Amobarbital, enough to slow her pulse and respiration to a nearly imperceptible level. I needed the Witchblade to believe that I truly intended to kill her. I _am_ sorry." 

Cailean felt for a pulse, then walked around the bed and picked up the phone, calling 911. She hung up as soon as a dispatcher answered. As expected, he tried to call back, to confirm the emergency. Cailean picked up the phone and immediately dropped it back into the receiver, taking it off the hook before it could ring again.

"Stay with her, Detective Woo. Watch over her."

"Always..." Danny assured her, caressing Sara's cold forehead. "Will she be okay? I can still touch her."

Cailean nodded. "She lingers near death, but the injection I gave her will work shortly. The paramedics will help more. She'll be herself again by lunchtime tomorrow."

As Danny leaned over Sara, muttering words of comfort and encouragement in her ear, Cailean moved around the apartment, pulling drawers and emptying their contents over the floor, making it look like a robbery. She was unwilling that anyone, even for a short time, would consider the possibility that Sara was some kind of drug-addict, or had attempted to take her own life.

"You just think of everything, don't you?" Danny asked, looking up as she turned to leave, heading this time for the front door.

"Always. I am... _very_ sorry for what I had to do. But our freedom, _Ian's_ freedom, is worth more to me than anything."

Danny nodded slowly. "Good luck on that."

She nodded. "Thank you and I'm sorry." With this, Cailean left the bedroom.

Danny leaned over Sara, whispering reassuringly in her ear. She was still in pretty bad shape, but he could no longer touch her, which at least meant that she was going to be okay. Strangely, the knowledge that he could no longer touch her was bitter-sweet for him. The paramedics and the cops arrived at the same time and it did not take them long to find Sara, or the vial of barbiturates that Cailean had obviously left behind for them. Sighing, he moved back to let the paramedics work. As one of the paramedics injected Sara with epinephrine, Danny saw Jake running into the room.

"_Sara_?" he yelled when an unfamiliar cop stopped him at the door. "Man, she's my partner! Let me see her!" he shouted, trying to get around the officer.

Roused by the commotion Jake was making, Sara returned to consciousness with a gasp. "Danny?" she called, looking around for him. "_Danny_?" She looked around frantically for Danny, but he was nowhere to be found. She rubbed her head and realized why. Her right wrist was bare. "Oh, God! Danny... _Danny_!"

"She's delirious..." one of the medics announced. "Detective, can you hear me?"

"Sara?" Having finally made it past the cop at the door, Jake moved swiftly to Sara's side. "Hey, partner. Are you okay? What happened?"

"She was asking for someone called Danny..." one of the medics told Jake.

Jake looked at Sara in surprise. "You're okay, partner. You won't be joining Danny any time soon."

Sara knew that he was trying to make her feel better, so she ignored him. "What are you doing here?"

"Someone called me when the 911 went in."

"Oh..." Sara nodded weakly and rested her head against the pillow, trying to remember what had happened. Someone had come at her and put a pillow over her face. "He injected me with something!" Sara gasped, remembering the burning in her arm that had soon turned into a comfortable warmth. "Oh, God..." she muttered. There was no doubt in her mind who had arranged the attack. It could only have been Irons.

"Sodium Amytal. Barbiturates..." the medic told her. "Probably to keep you from fighting or trying to leave while they searched the place."

"Did he hurt you, Sara?" Jake asked. If he ever got his hands on the perp, there was an engraved bullet with the jerk's name on it. He moved back to allow the medics to move her onto a stretcher, following as they rolled her outside.

She shook her head slowly. "No, I'm fine." 

She rubbed her bare right wrist, wishing for the Witchblade back if only so she could see Danny. She could sense that he was there, watching over her, but not being able to see him made her feel very lonely.

"Sara, you think you're up to working with a sketch-artist?" Jake asked, following her down to the ambulance.

"Not your case, Rookie..." Sara sighed, closing her eyes.

"_Making_ it my case..." Jake informed her flatly, climbing into the ambulance after her. "Come on, Pez."

"Put a pillow over my face..." Sara told Jake. "Didn't get so much as a glance at him." She shook her head. "Sorry." 

Logic told her that, if Irons _had_ been behind the attack, then he probably would have sent Nottingham to do it, but she could not believe really that he would have done something like that to her. She knew that she was probably allowing herself to be influenced in that belief by the visions that she had so recently had of him, but she did not care. Gabriel himself had pointed it out only today. The Witchblade gave her those visions for a reason. She was unwilling to even entertain the notion that Nottingham had been involved until she had conclusive proof.

"Don't worry, Sara..." Jake told her with a smile and a ferocious glint in his eye. "We'll catch this jerk."

Danny looked up at his tone of voice, not liking it. What should have sounded reassuring sounded more like a threat. Jake seemed less worried about Sara than angry over the attack. Of course, Danny had no doubt that Jake would do his best to protect Sara, but he was still worried by the way he was fingering the bullet in his shirt pocket.


	9. Sleepless Night

**Chapter 9 -- Sleepless Night**

Ian could not sleep. His confusion over the previous day's events might have been enough to keep him up by itself, but it was compounded by his concern over Cailean. He had not seen her since breakfast, a fact which did not seem to trouble Irons in the least. By the time Irons had taken some fashion model or other to bed for the night, Ian was beginning to grow worried.

Eventually, he acknowledged that sleep was not going to come. With a sigh, he rose from the bed and pulled on a pair of black shorts. Not bothering to put on anything else, he picked up a towel and walked down to the well-equipped gym. Even in his worried state, he knew better than to go into an intense workout without a warm-up. Irons would be furious with him if he injured himself in that way, so he dropped onto the pad and began stretching, his mind very much on his sister.

Cailean had always been better at this than him, he recalled, and had been in the habit of teasing him about his lack of flexibility, in spite of the fact that he was more flexible than many Olympic-class gymnasts. It had never bothered him that Cailean was better at something than he was. They both had strengths. And weaknesses. Cailean's greatest weakness had always been her unwavering desire to please Irons, no matter how loathsome his demands on her might have been. She had openly defied the man only once in her thirty years, refusing to be coerced into donning the Witchblade.

After his muscles were loose, he automatically went through his Kata, only because it was what he always did before a workout. Having accomplished this, he considered going to the swords next, but changed his mind. Tonight, mindless violence and physicality were more called for than the almost philosophic poetry of the blade. He needed only to exhaust his body enough to bring sleep.

He glanced at the exercise bike and treadmill, but instantly dismissed them. They were more there for the convenience of Irons than anything. Ian himself seldom used them, preferring a more physically demanding routine. Often, such a routine involved live opponents, well paid by Irons for their trouble and pains, but tonight, on short notice, he would have to be satisfied to pummel the heavy-bag. It was just as well, he reflected, picking up a pair of gloves. Tonight, with his mind in such a confused state, it was doubtful if he would be focused enough to keep from seriously damaging a human opponent. 

He glanced at the boxing gloves for a moment before throwing them aside. He disliked the gloves, wearing them only to keep from injuring lesser opponents. Without the gloves, it was easier to gauge the force and accuracy of his blows. Cailean had often teased him about this dislike, although he suspected that she herself disliked the gloves as well. They never bothered with gloves against each other. Years of training under Irons made it seem almost an insult to cushion their blows against each other, even if they wore gloves and pulled punches in their dealings with others.

Against the bag, Ian did not have to bother to pull his punches. As he weaved and bounced around the bag, his blows landed in rapid succession, each time creating a satisfying 'thunk' and diffusing a little more tension. His body slowly relaxed as he continued raining blows on the bag. His breathing remained slow, but deepened to allow him to draw more oxygen into his lungs. The bag was secured firmly to the ground since almost every one of his blows was sufficiently powerful to send it skidding across the room. Most people would have tired quickly at the pace that he set himself, but Ian continued pounding the bag, ignoring the sweat that burned at his eyes and streamed down his bare chest and back, caused his shorts to cling to his body.

Frustrated by his inability to force thoughts of Cailean and the Lady Sara from his head, Ian redoubled his attack on the bag, ignoring his own discomfort. His breathing became rapid and shallow as he pushed himself to the breaking-point. Stitches on his back tore, and blood mingled with the sweat which saturated his shorts, but still he pounded the bag until the skin on three of the knuckles on his right hand split from a poorly-aimed blow. 

He stopped then, but not because of the pain. The rush of endorphins that the grueling workout had produced masked most of the pain. He stopped because he was injured, and you _always _stopped when you were injured. That was the rule. If you were injured, you stopped, because you did not want to injure the master's property any further. He stared down at his right hand thoughtfully, flexing the fingers. He was lucky not to have broken anything, he realized, walking over to the sink and running cool water over his bleeding knuckles.

As he rinsed the wounds, he glanced up at the clock, surprised to see that it was almost four in the morning. He had been pounding on the bag for hours. He picked up the towel and walked into the shower-room, tossing his shorts in the washer before climbing under the shower. He rested his head against the wall as the cool water streamed over him, washing away not only his blood and his sweat, but also the tears that came to his eyes as his mind once more allowed him to think about the two beloved women in his life. He had long since accepted that he would never have Sara, but to see Cailean once more suffering at the hands of Irons was almost unbearable to him.

Once he and his clothes were clean and dry, he left the gym and started for his bedroom. As he walked past Cailean's room, he heard sobbing inside. Taking a deep breath, he slid inside, closing the door behind him. Cailean _never_ cried, not since she had been five years old. Whatever had her troubled must have been a great problem indeed. He hated himself for his inability to make her life easier, or, at the very least, more pleasant.

_Cailean?_ he asked mentally, looking around. He heard her in the bathroom, throwing up, so he went to her. _What's wrong? What has happened?_ He was afraid for her. He could not recall her ever having gotten sick as a child, so whatever was wrong with her now must have been serious.__

_It hurts..._ Cailean moaned, throwing up again.

Ian knelt next to her and pulled her hair back and held it for her until she had emptied her stomach, then he rose and poured her a glass of cold water. As she cleaned her mouth, he asked, _What hurts? What has happened?_

She looked up at him with wide eyes. _Please don't hate me._

Ian gathered her into his arms and held her close, rocking her on the cold floor. Whatever was wrong with her, he realized from the horrified look in her eyes, had nothing to do with illness. Behind all that pain, there was guilt in that gaze. He tightened his grasp on her, reassuring her with actions as well as with his thoughts. _I could never hate you, Cailean. Why are you in pain? What has happened?_

Instead of answering, she reached up and touched his cheek with her left hand. Ian stared at the Witchblade on her wrist with wide eyes. He knew full well that the only way to remove the Witchblade from Sara now that she had passed the Periculum would be to kill or seriously injure her. 

_How could you?_ he demanded of her, knowing full well that there was only one thing that could have driven her to such an act, but still furious with her for it. She had stood up to him once where the Witchblade was concerned, and his mind insisted that she should have been more than able to do so again. _How could you?_ he repeated in a tone that demanded an immediate answer. He pushed her away, forcing her to look into eyes that demanded an answer as urgently as his mental tone did.__

_He ordered me to..._ Cailean told him, confirming Ian's suspicion._ He told me to kill her, but I could not. You love her too much._

Horror and relief vied for control within Ian. _She lives?_ he finally asked to reassure himself that he had heard what he thought he had. His thinking was so confused that he was not entirely sure that the last part had not been imagined. It seemed impossible that the Witchblade would have left Sara of its will while she lived, but if Cailean said that Sara lived, then Sara must be alive. 

Abruptly, horribly, he suddenly found himself wondering how far he could really trust this woman who he had always thought he knew. The Cailean he knew and loved would never have attacked Sara, never agreed to steal, much less don, the Witchblade. Had she changed? Was she truly his own Cailean any more? Had she not, perhaps, finally succumbed to the brand of training and discipline that Irons had always hoped would turn them into obedient and lethal servant, unquestioningly willing to carry out their master's every whim? His Cailean... Could this woman before him, a woman who had attacked and robbed the Wielder, truly be the skinny teenager who had flatly refused to don the Witchblade because it was not her right to do so? 

She had never had any secrets from him in the past. Now, though, she kept things from him, followed the orders that Irons gave her, even when she knew them to be wrong. Maybe she really had changed. The thought left him feeling hollow and more truly miserable than he would ever have thought possible.__

Cailean nodded confirmation that Sara was still alive. The horrified, confused look on his face said it all. She had not just betrayed Sara and her friend Danny this night. She had betrayed her beloved brother as well._ She is in the hospital now, recovering._

Ian rose swiftly, afraid that if he spent any more time in her presence, his anger might cause him to lash out at her. He could never have forgiven himself if he had hurt her,  even in the face of this betrayal, so removing himself from her presence seemed like a wise choice. Besides, if Sara were hospitalized, he had to go to her. With a final, confused look at his sister, he fled the room.__

 "I've lost him..." Cailean muttered, shaking her head. She could not believe that Ian would ever be able to forgive her for what she had done to the woman he loved. In her mind, she had no right to expect otherwise. There was a new pain now, a sense of emptiness so great that she felt like she would never smile again. 

Mechanically, she picked up the toothpaste and searched for her toothbrush, wanting nothing more than to remove the awful taste from her mouth. It would not work, though, she knew, because the taste in her mouth had nothing to do with the fact that she had been throwing up and everything to do with her betrayal of Ian. As she finished brushing her teeth, Irons joined her in the bathroom. "My Master..." _This is your fault..._ she thought to herself, although she schooled her expression into an emotionless one before her anger could be apparent to him.

He was pale, tired-looking. His connection to the Witchblade meant that he had suffered much of what Cailean herself had tonight, to a lesser degree, a fact which pleased her inordinately. As much as she hated herself for what she had done, she hated him even more for putting her in a position where it had been her only choice. This man, a man who she had called father until her sixteenth year of life, was evil incarnate. 

He knew that her suffering had been substantially greater than his own, and it amazed him that she was still able to stand and speak coherently. He had, of course, known that she was strong, but her resolve in this had been incredible. More than once during her suffering, he had been sorely tempted to order her to remove the Witchblade to ease his own pain. Still, any amount of pain was worth it in light of what had passed. The Witchblade was once again in his possession and under his control.

He had to hear every detail of this victory over Sara Pezzini. "Get changed, Cailean, and then join me in the sitting-room."

"Yes, my Master." She nodded weakly. She slid on jeans and a black turtleneck, running a brush through her hair before starting for the sitting-room. Even after all she had been through tonight, Irons, the bastard, would not want her to look anything other than pretty for him.

***

Jake was dozing fitfully on a folding cot when Ian entered the hospital room, carrying a vase with two dozen white roses, all that the gift-shop had been in possession of. Ian eyed the sleeping man thoughtfully for a moment. He distrusted McCarty, but it was good to know that he was still sufficiently devoted to Sara to stay with her. From what Cailean had told him, Irons would _not_ be happy that Sara was still alive. The Wielder would need whatever protection she could get. 

McCarty's gun was on a table next to the cot. Ian quietly pocketed the weapon, to avoid any unpleasantness, then placed the vase on the table next to Sara. Having accomplished this, he announced himself to Jake by quietly clearing his throat. Jake sat up abruptly, reaching for his gun. He did a startled double-take as he realized that it was not where he had left it.

When Ian spoke, he did not take his eyes off of the unconscious woman. "That is not necessary, Detective. If I had wanted you dead, you would be..." Ian informed him quietly, not wishing to disturb Sara's rest.

"Nottingham. What the hell are you doing here?" Jake demanded, glaring at him and momentarily forgetting about his gun. Someone had pretty severely pummeled the assassin recently, but Jake merely noted this in passing, more interested in what the man was doing in Sara's room than in his most recent criminal exploits. He was too surprised by his sudden appearance here to even be pleased that someone had finally gotten the better of Nottingham.

Ian's expression indicated that this was one of the most stupid questions he had ever been subject to. "I heard that Detective Pezzini was unwell. I came to pay my respects." He indicated the vase he had brought in.

Jake stared at him suspiciously. "Nice flowers..." he muttered sarcastically, noticing them for the first time. "But, you know, lilies are more accepted for funerals." He moved closer to the bed, determined to stop Nottingham if he tried to harm Sara.

Ian turned to face Jake, staring at him as though daring him to point out that visiting hours had been over for hours. "I will be certain to recall that useful piece of information, Detective, should I ever have occasion to bring _you_ flowers. Roses, however, are Detective Pezzini's favorite..." he told Jake softly.

Jake shook his head, ignoring the implied threat. How the hell could this freakish assassin know _anything_ about Sara, let alone her favorite kind of flowers? "Whatever. Why white? Couldn't find any in black?"

Ian ignored him. "May we have a few moments?"

"You think I'm going to leave you here alone when she's helpless?" Jake scoffed. This guy was beyond freakish. He was psychotic, and Sara seemed to be his new fixation. He could not believe that Sara would be in any way involved with Nottingham, but that did not mean that Ian was uninvolved with _her_.

Ian did not bother to conceal his contempt for Jake. "You know as well as I that if I wanted the Detective dead she would be, a thousand times over. I have no desire to harm her, only to speak to her."

"Well, then, why don't you come back when she can hear you?" Jake suggested, growing irritated.

Ian picked up her chart and scanned it, approving of Cailean's wisdom in both her choice of poisons and countermeasures. Still, the drug was meant to be injected into the muscle. Injecting it directly into Sara's vein had been risky. It was an unusually sloppy job for Cailean who knew her poisons better than Ian knew his swords. No wonder the Witchblade had been fooled into thinking Sara was dying; her vital signs had been almost immeasurable when the paramedics had arrived, even though the effects of the drug had been largely reversed by that time. 

There was no doubt in Ian's mind that Sara would be fully recovered within a few hours. The fact left him feeling elated for two reasons. Aside from the fact that Sara would recover fully in a very short time, it was now obvious to Ian that Cailean had never intended any real harm to her. Clearly, he had misjudged his sister. Irons would never have sent her unless he had wanted Sara dead. Cailean had gone, but she had refused to take Sara's life. Perhaps her loyalty to the Wielder remained in-tact and she could still be convinced to part with the Witchblade.

"The fact that she sleeps does not mean that she is wholly unaware of her surroundings. I prefer to speak to her now. I may not have another opportunity." He gazed steadily at Jake.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jake demanded defensively.

Ian continued staring at Jake. "I only require two minutes. You may wait outside." He said this as though it were the most reasonable thing in the world. 

He glanced at Jake thoughtfully for a moment, then sent him a mental image of his last beating at Ian's hands, elaborating it to illustrate exactly what would happen this time if he did not give them some time alone and allowing him to think that the images were coming from within his own head. The effect was striking, and amusing.

Jake backed down immediately, strangely intimidated by the steady gaze and by the assassin's steady tone and recalling their last encounter. He had no doubts at all that if he did not give the assassin his time alone with Sara the results would be exceedingly unpleasant. "Two minutes..." he repeated, backing towards the door. "But if you lay a hand on her..." he trailed off, unnerved by the contemptuous look on Ian's face.

When Jake had closed the door, Ian slid a chair under the handle to keep him from intruding before the agreed two minutes had elapsed. He returned to Sara's bedside, glancing down at her regretfully. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "Had I known what was planned for you, I would have done everything in my power to stop it, fair Lady Sara..." he said in a halting voice. "I... I can only beg your forgiveness that I was not there to guard you when you most needed me. I am... so very sorry..."

Shaking from shame and anguish, Ian dropped to one knee beside the bed. He gently took Sara's right hand in both of his and tenderly kissed it, wetting it with his tears. Slowly, thoughtfully, he turned her hand over, examining the two scars on the underside of her wrist that were the only indication that she had been bonded with the Witchblade. He pulled a glove off and gently ran his fingers over the scars. They were so tiny, hardly noticeable, yet they spoke volumes about the woman who bore them. Cailean would never bear such scars herself. The Witchblade, like Irons, would use her and throw her away. He replaced his glove and kissed Sara's hand again. 

Sighing deeply, he rested his forehead against the back of her hand and knelt there for several moments, wishing that Kenneth Irons had never heard of the Witchblade. The chance that had led him to happen across a passage about it in a book so many years ago had, and would continue to, cause immeasurable pain to the only two people Ian genuinely cared about. True, the odds of him having met Sara had she never encountered the Witchblade were slim, but he would have willingly forgone the chance to know her if it had meant that none of this insanity had ever come to pass. It never occurred to Ian to wish that his own pain might be less; he was too concerned about Sara and Cailean. 

Both women were in incredibly tenuous situations. Irons would be outraged that Sara still lived. He would doubtless send someone else after her to finish the job now that she no longer wore the Witchblade, perhaps even Ian himself. Ian knew that, like Cailean, he would never be able to carry out such an order, and he knew that refusal would equal death, which would leave only Cailean to protect Sara, assuming that Irons deigned to let her live that long. 

Both women would be in danger from Irons, assuming they were not already. Ian shook his head in confusion, desperately trying to formulate a plan to keep them both safe. His mind, usually so quick to develop feasible plans, remained annoyingly, frighteningly blank. He could not think of one good way to keep both women from harm. To save Cailean would be to sacrifice Sara to Irons. To save Sara would be to abandon Cailean to him. Ian groaned softly, agonized and torn. He simply could _not_ chose one over the other.

At the sound of the doorknob rattling, Ian rose swiftly and returned Sara's hand to her chest. He picked her chart up again, glancing through it as he allowed Jake to re-enter the room.

"Thank you..." he said politely, ignoring Jake's suspicious glare. He replaced the chart and turned to carefully rearrange the flowers in the vase. "The man responsible for this attack will not be well pleased when he discovers that she lives."

"_What_?" Jake demanded. "It was a _robbery_."

"Was it?" Ian turned and stared at him, wondering if any man could really be so stupid. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that, in this at least, Jake McCarty was not his enemy. He might be a White Bull, but the Bulls had been uninvolved in the attack. Until Irons chose to involve them, Sara was in no real danger from that quarter. 

"You knew this was going to happen!" Jake accused, pointing and glaring at Ian, recalling the bullet in his pocket and wishing once more for his gun.

Ian left Sara's bedside and closed on Jake. Standing perhaps six inches from the shorter man, he gazed steadily down at him, his face at its most intimidating. "If I had known about the attack beforehand," he told Jake in a deceptively gentle tone, "it would never have occurred. I would never let anyone hurt her..." He took several steps away from Jake without seeming to back down at all. "There may be other attempts against her now that this one has failed. She is at her most weak and vulnerable at this moment; she will not be able to protect herself. _You_ must guard her from harm." A small smile stole across his face. "Hopefully better than you guarded her from my visit..."

"You think she's in so much danger, why don't you keep an eye on her?" Jake challenged, although he had no real desire for Nottingham to stay and no real trust in his intentions. He was distinctly unsettled by the smile the assassin had just given him.

It was a compelling offer, but Ian knew better than to accept it. If Irons had found out he was in the hospital at all, the old man would be furious and Sara or Cailean would suffer for it. "She _does _need protection, but I am not the one to provide it to her in this instance. Will you care for her?" he asked, hating to so humble himself before such a man. An idiot with no integrity set to guard the woman he loved because he himself could not.

Jake nodded slowly, more than a little confused by the request. His first instinct had been to believe that Nottingham was probably somehow involved in the attack. But that hardly meshed with the assassin warning him that her life was still in danger and then asking him to protect her. And what was _that_ all about? Suddenly her stalker could no longer be bothered to watch over her. That did not make any sense either. Jake considered this thoughtfully for a few moments, before it suddenly clicked in the undercover agent's mind. Irons had been behind the attack, for some reason, but it had gone off without the knowledge of his favorite lapdog who could not now involve himself without getting into serious trouble with a man whose rebellious employees had a habit of vanishing.

"Yeah. I'll keep an eye on her." 

Ian nodded and turned to leave. "Watch her well." It was an order, and Ian's tone of voice promised dire punishment if any harm came to Sara because of Jake's negligence. He knew that this fool's protection would not be enough to keep Sara safe from Irons for long, but it was the best he could think of at present. Given time, he would be able to think of a better plan to keep her safe, but for the time being, Jake was Sara's best shot at safety.

Ian dropped Jake's gun on the table next to his cot and swept out of the room, leaving a startled Jake staring after him.


	10. Domestic Violence

**Chapter 10 -- Domestic Violence**

Irons stared into the fire, his hands shaking with anger. He kept his voice level, however, as he spoke to Dante on the phone, trying to convey the impression that he was quite pleased that the woman Dante was sure he was sleeping with was going to recover. "And she _is_ expected to recover, Captain Dante? Excellent. Yes, thank you. Good night." 

Pulling off his headset and tossing it in the direction of the table, he glanced down at Cailean, who knelt at his feet. She had her eyes fixed on the floor, and she was shaking. The pain from donning the Witchblade was beginning to recede, and Irons was feeling much better. Cailean, on the other hand, was clearly not feeling at all well, which was to be expected considering how badly she had fouled up the simple task he had given her. He reached down almost negligently, catching her chin in his hand. With a swift jerk, he hauled her onto her feet and pulled her close.

"She lives..." he hissed, his nose almost touching hers. Even the pretext of affection was now gone from his manner. "How is it, Cailean, that one sends one of the best assassins in the world to kill a sleeping woman and that woman _manages to survive_?" He shoved her into his armchair and closed the distance between them, gripping the armrests on either side of her and bending close. "_How does that happen?_" he shrieked.

"I thought..." Cailean began in a shaking voice, willing the Witchblade to activate.

Irons backhanded her, silencing her excuses. He had never been a man to tolerate weakness, and Cailean's decision to spare Sara could only be interpreted as weakness. He frowned at the stinging pain in his own cheek, courtesy of his connection to the Witchblade. 

"Take that thing off!" he hissed at her.

Cailean tugged helplessly at the Witchblade, frustrated by its refusal to activate. "It's stuck, my Master..." she muttered, secretly pleased. If the Witchblade came off now, not only would she be unable to kill Irons, he would probably beat her pretty severely. His link to the Witchblade, the fact that through it he experienced her pain, offered her some degree of protection from his attentions until she could force it to bend to her will. She only needed it to work once, but until it did, she could not be sufficiently certain of her ability to triumph over Irons. She needed to wait.

Irons grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip and attempted to pull the Witchblade from her hand. "What did you do?" he demanded, sure that this was merely some trick of Cailean's to avoid punishment.

"I put it on!" Cailean shouted, shaking her head in anger. It was as if something in her mind had snapped. She was no longer truly in the room, just a spectator to events that should have alarmed her but seemed genuinely unimportant. She no longer felt entirely in control of her own action. "Just like _you_ ordered me to!"

"Do _not_ talk back to me!" Irons pulled her from the chair and shoved her to her knees on the flagstone before the fireplace. "Do _not_ raise your voice to me..." he added, crossing the room and retrieving the lash he always kept on hand. "Do _not_ assume a disrespectful tone with me..."

"I'll speak to you with respect when you _earn_ it!" Cailean snapped, not rising. Let him beat her. Spilling her blood might be the only way to force the Witchblade to work, and once it had, she could finally free herself and Ian forever.

Irons raised an eyebrow, startled by Cailean's words. "So, my little girl grew a backbone while she was away?" he asked her absently, twirling the lash in his hands. "Not very wise of you, my dear." He sighed and shook his head. "It should never have come to this, Cailean. Your defiance has endangered you _and_ your brother."

"Leave him out of this!" Cailean shouted, rising and spinning to face him. "You so much as _try_ to retaliate against him for this..." she snarled, advancing on him.

Irons raised the lash and almost carelessly flicked it in her direction, catching her across the face. He shook his head and clicked his tongue, ignoring the biting pain and dizziness he felt, knowing that the pain Cailean felt had been far worse. "Dear, dear. No amount of makeup is going to conceal _that_. On your knees, Cailean..." he said in a bored voice. 

But he was shocked, and more than a little worried. This display was definitely not in keeping with Cailean's typical mode of behavior. It occurred to him to be worried by it, but he just as quickly dismissed that concern. Cailean would never raise her hand against him, he was sure of it.

Her head swimming from pain, Cailean clenched and unclenched her fists, willing the Witchblade to work. It remained dead and cold on her hand.

Ignoring the pain and the blood, she raised her head and, for the first time in her life, looked Irons in the eye. "Sir, you are my Master. I loved you. I would have walked barefoot across broken glass to please you. I would have died to protect you or for no other reason than that you desired it." She dropped to her knees, her back to him, and pulled off her shirt. "I would have walked barefoot across broken glass for you..." she repeated quietly, crossing her arms over her chest and bowing her head. "And in so doing, I would have experienced a thousand times more pleasure than I have _ever_ gotten in your bed." 

Irons, who had always prided himself on his skills as a lover, was furious. He raised the lash and tore into Cailean's back with as much force as he could manage. The explosion of pain that Cailean felt was mirrored to a lesser degree in Irons. He dropped the lash and fell to his knees, gasping in pain. Cailean did not move until Irons had pulled himself to his feet and staggered from the room. She picked up her shirt and used it to remove the worst of the blood from her face before automatically turning her attention to the blood on the flagstone, another habit she had picked up in childhood. If you committed an infraction worthy of a beating, you cleaned up your own mess once it was over. Only then were you allowed to take care of your injuries.

The pain was almost welcomed. It made it very hard to think about anything else, including her betrayal of Sara and Ian. Shaking from pain and exhaustion, she finally made her way back to her room. Irons would have received a healthy dose of painkillers from his personal physician by now, and, by breakfast, his anger with her would likely be fading. Until the drugs wore off enough for him to remember that Sara was still alive. 

Reluctantly, she moved to the bathroom to examine the damage to her face. Irons had been right. No amount of makeup was _ever_ going to cover the gash. After she had tended the wound on her back as best as she could, she changed into a black turtleneck and examined the injury on her cheek, curious but detached. Finally, she picked up her hairbrush and pulled some hair over the right side of her face, smoothing it against her cheek. At least now she would not flinch every time she caught her reflection. She was lucky not to have lost her eye to that stroke. It had been too close.

She returned to the sitting-room to await Ian's return. By the time he silently entered, it had begun to rain heavily. Cailean stood at the window watching the storm. The thunder and high winds, reflected her mood, turbulent and confused. The Witchblade's refusal to work against Irons, even after he had hurt her, seemed to confirm everything she had ever been told about herself. She was unworthy of the Blade, unworthy of its protection. Unworthy to do anything except quietly accept the abuses she had been subject to her whole life, and doubly unworthy for resenting them. And now that she had harmed Sara, Ian hated her as well. Cailean had never felt so miserable in her life.

"Cailean..." Ian said softly, breaking the silence.

_Will she recover, Ian?_

_Yes. Rapidly. She'll be fine in a few hours._

_I am glad._

_You're hurt. What did he do?_

_Nothing that you need to worry about._ Cailean shook her head absently. _Ian, may I please have some time alone?_

Ian stared at her uncertainly. She had _never_ in her life requested that Ian leave her alone. The two had been virtually inseparable for most of their childhood, the one drawing comfort and strength from the other. And now Cailean, at the moment when she needed him most, was asking him to leave her. It felt like a rejection, as if his sister no longer wanted him.

For her part, Cailean could not believe that Ian would wish to be in the same room with her after everything that had transpired. She had betrayed Sara, betrayed Sara's ghostly companion, and, worst of all, betrayed Ian himself. Ian prized honor and directness above all else, so Cailean could hardly expect him to understand her actions in light of their concealed motives. Her only comfort was the thought that, through her betrayal, she might still be able to set him free.__

Ian was reluctant to leave her, but she seemed to want solitude so he turned to go. _Cailean... _he began, uncertain how to fully express the concern he felt for her. 

Cailean interpreted his uncertainty as reluctance to speak to her. She could hardly blame him. _I'll see you later, Ian._

Ian left with a sigh. Cailean turned and stared after him. In trying to save him, she had alienated the one man she had ever cared about. He obviously could not understand. She did not blame him. She hardly understood herself. 

It had all seemed so beautifully simple when the plan had presented itself to her during her conference with Gabriel Bowman. Mimic the Wielder's death and the Witchblade would have no reason to stay with her. That, at least, had worked as planned. But he had also said that Pretenders could, for a time at least, make the Witchblade work. A few moments were all she would have needed, but it refused to aid her. The only reason that she could imagine was that her plans were not a part of its agenda. 

But how could the death of a man like Irons _not_ be something that the Witchblade longed for? He held the Wielder back, sabotaged her efforts, attempted to control her. Cailean could not see how the Witchblade could want anything other than his death, which meant that its refusal to aid her must have reflected solely on her. She was not worthy to be even a Pretender to the Witchblade. She had betrayed the Lady Sara for nothing, and now the Witchblade was back in the control of Kenneth Irons.

That could not be allowed, she knew. She would die before she allowed him to control the Witchblade. It might be too late for her, but it was not too late for Lady Sara, and she prayed it was not too late for Ian. "Why did I ever tell Elizabeth about you?" she breathed, glancing down at the cold, dead stone on her wrist. She did not turn from the window when the doors to the sitting-room opened and Ian and Irons walked in.

"Although our Cailean assures me that fair Sara never saw her face..." Irons was telling Ian as they entered. He paused briefly, his eyes on Cailean in her corner. "Enjoying yourself, child?" he asked in a solicitous tone, wondering if she was over her earlier mood.

"No, my Master..." Cailean muttered absently, not turning from the window. Tears formed in her eyes. The Witchblade had chosen this demon over her. The thought made her feel strangely apathetic.

Irons shook his head, smiling absently. From the expression on his face, she might as easily have been some new love interest, bored by a museum exhibit or show at the theater. "Never fear, my love. We'll find a task to occupy your attentions soon. Once you no longer have the chance to be bored, I'm sure your disposition will improve accordingly."

Cailean nodded weakly, wondering if he was going to send her after Sara again, or if he had some business or political rival to be dealt with. She could sense that Ian's thoughts were turning in the same direction. His anxiety would have been almost palpable even without her connection to him. "As you say."

Irons nodded approvingly and turned his attention back to Ian. "As I was saying, although Sara never saw Cailean's face, there is no doubt that she will link the attack to us. How do we deal with her if she comes, Ian?"

"Denial." Ian's voice was soft, pained. When he spoke, it was in the hope of saving Sara's life when she reacted in her predictable, rash manner. "She has no proof that you--"

"_We_, Ian..." Irons corrected him mildly.

Ian scowled. "She has no proof that... _we_ are behind the theft of the Witchblade."

"Retrieval, Ian..." Irons told him gently. "We were merely retrieving what is ours."

Ian hated the way Irons persisted in using the word 'we', as if the three of them were equal partners in this insanity. "She has no proof that we are behind the... _retrieval_ of the Witchblade. She can not go to the authorities with her suspicions given the nature of both the Witchblade and her acquisition of it. She is quite powerless against you in this."

Irons nodded his approval of Ian's assessment. "So, that is our policy? We deny that we had anything to do with this?"

Ian nodded. "Perhaps we even offer her aid in her own investigation of the matter..." he suggested, hoping that it would translate into a chance for him to see Sara, to explain to her what had truly passed. He could not bear the though of her being angry with Cailean when she discovered the truth about his sister's role in the attack. 

Irons nodded thoughtfully, knowing full well that there was more to Ian's request than met the eye. He recalled the party that Sara had attended the other night and Ian's dance with Sara. No doubt this had only intensified Ian's growing infatuation with Sara. He shook his head in frustration; it was an unforeseen reaction. He had hoped that the incident would increase Ian's discomfort around her.

"Much remains to be seen, young Nottingham." Irons patted Ian gently on the shoulder. "At present, I think a straightforward policy of denial is best. If she becomes unduly persistent, we will consider offering her what aid we can."

Irons, who prided himself on always being three moves ahead not only of his opponents but of life itself, paused thoughtfully as it occurred to him that, if Cailean proved unable to manage the Witchblade, Sara might still be useful. If he 'recovered' the Witchblade for her, she would be bound to him by gratitude. Perhaps her opinion of him could be manipulated in this fashion. Yes, Cailean's blunder might still be turned to his advantage. Sara would require more subtle handling this time, but it could still be feasible.

Irons nodded again. "At present, I want you to observe her, Ian. From a distance. It's very important that she not _see_ you or any reminder of either of us. These will only fire her imagination and lead her to suspect the worst of us." Irons smiled as though anyone suspecting the worst of him were absurd.

"Of course." Ian nodded, relieved that Irons seemed to be more or less over his anger at Cailean. Ian could see the wheels turning in the old man's head, working to turn this situation to his advantage. As long as Irons kept mulling these possibilities, it was possible that he might still forgive Cailean _and_ decide to spare Sara.

"You may go now..." Irons told Ian quietly, moving towards his chair.

As Ian started for the door, it swung inwards and a furious-looking Sara Pezzini stormed into the room. Ian immediately moved to her because she was still so obviously weak from her ordeal the night before that she was wobbling on her feet.

"What have I done..." Cailean muttered at the window. She raised her hand to touch the cool glass and let out a frustrated cry, driving her palm through the pane. She saw her own face reflected in a thousand shards of glass, and a single reflection of Sara. She bent her head, unwilling to turn and face the friend she had so egregiously betrayed.

Irons glanced up in irritation at the sound of the breaking glass. "That was _supposed_ to be shatter-proof..." he muttered, shaking his head, seemingly unaware of Sara's presence and seemingly unaffected by Cailean's behavior.

"Give it back, Irons!" Sara demanded, ignoring the wave of deja-vu she felt at the scene she had just witnessed. It so closely mirrored the vision she had experienced the first time she had seen Cailean.

"Give _what_ back, fair Sara?" Irons asked with a curious smile, spreading his hands.

"You _really_ want to mess with me right now, Irons?" Sara demanded. 

Since the attack, she was beginning to understand many things. Like the fact that the Witchblade was more addictive than nicotine. She could probably have handled the physical cravings for it that she was experiencing, but the Witchblade was _hers_. She had passed the Periculum, proved herself worthy of it and, in turn, been accepted by it. It was a part of her, she knew, quite beyond the fact that it was, usually, half-buried under her skin. No matter how much she might resent the fact, life without it was no longer a possibility.

"You seem upset, Detective..." Irons told her with his trademark smile, the one that made Sara feel like scrubbing with steel wool to get the filth off.

For some reason, that smile pushed her over the edge, and she reached for her gun, even as her brain screamed at her that she was probably signing her own death-warrant in the process.

"Ian..." Irons muttered, gesturing.

Ian stepped forward and removed the gun from Sara's holster before Sara could, shame clearly written on his face. "And please do not attempt to go for the gun you keep holstered at your ankle, either, Detective..." he muttered softly, stepping away from her, praying that she would heed his advice and not antagonize Irons unduly.

Sara stared at Ian, wide-eyed, her mouth moving soundlessly. After the other night, she had almost expected him to back her up. She shook her head and returned her attention to Irons. "Give it back, Irons..." she repeated.

Irons smiled sympathetically and rose, approaching Sara. "I'm afraid, fair Sara, that _I_ do not have what you seek."

"You're lying."

"Am I?" Irons asked, spreading his hands again. "You are still overwhelmed by the attack against you. I suggest that you go home and get some much-deserved rest. You'll be in much better mental shape to discover who has taken our property _after_ you have recuperated. Good day." As Sara stared at him, working on an appropriate retort, he nodded to Ian. "See the Detective out, Ian. I have too much work to do today to occupy myself with pleasantries." Dismissing them with a wave of his hand, he half-turned to Cailean, who still stood with her back to them, staring out the broken window.

Ian moved to stand next to Sara. "This way, please, Detective."

"I'm not going anywhere..." Sara said firmly, glaring at Ian. He immediately dropped his eyes, so she turned her glare to Irons. "I _will_ get it back..." Next to her, Ian winced, a reaction that Sara put down to her continued rashness in threatening the most powerful man in the city.

Irons shrugged indifferently. "Ian, see her out."

"I'm _not_ leaving." Sara took a step towards Irons.

Irons gestured to Ian. The younger man stepped forward and gently wrapped his hand around Sara's arm, restraining her. "Detective, please..." he whispered desperately, his fear audible in his tone.

Sara stopped, her attention caught by the fear in his voice. Ian Nottingham scared? Someone had better call hell and tell them to turn down the air conditioning. Something was going on here. Shaking her head, she followed Ian out. "This isn't over!" she informed Irons as she followed Ian from the sitting-room.

"You should not have come today. You are still weak..." Ian told her as he led her through the corridors of the mansion. "Too weak to stand against him."

"Who took it, Nottingham? You?" His pained expression almost made her regret the accusation. "That sister of yours?" she pressed. Sara nodded as his startled glance confirmed that. "Why?" she demanded.

Ian caught her arm and pulled her into a side room. Sara stared at him, surprised by the action. 

"Irons ordered her to kill you..." Ian told her in a low voice, leaning close. 

"Is this room bugged?" Sara asked, realizing that they were in a large bedroom.

Ian shook his head. "It's one of _his_ rooms. One of the few rooms in the mansion that is not monitored. This is why I chose it."

Sara nodded, accepting that. "If Irons ordered Cailean to kill me, what stopped her?"

"Me." Ian bowed his head.

"_You_? You knew about this?" Sara asked, amazed. She could not bring herself to believe that Nottingham would not have done something to stop the attack.

"I did not. Cailean could not kill you because I..." Ian paused, ashamed to admit his feelings. Sara, of course, would not return them. He was beneath her, worthy only to serve her and to die for her, which made it wrong for him to feel such things. He was ungrateful not to be satisfied merely to serve her. "She knows that I... esteem you highly."

Sara frowned. He was holding back here, she could tell by his tone and manner, but she was not entirely sure _what_ he was holding back. He was telling the truth that he respected her, but there was more to it than that. She studied Ian carefully, recalling the comment that Irons had made at the party, that Ian had a crush on her. Could Irons have been serious? Did it truly matter now that Ian had as good as admitted that her life was not safe.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked finally, deciding that she could work out the riddle that was Ian Nottingham later.

"You have a right to know..." Ian said simply. "Your life may not be safe."

"Jeez..." Sara muttered, shaking her head. "Nottingham, you sure know how to get a girl's attention."

"As long as Cailean retains the Witchblade, you will not be safe from Irons."

"So tell me how to get it back..." Sara suggested.

"Short of cutting off Cailean's hand, I don't _know_ how." Ian was clearly frustrated by the pronouncement. "It will not let her remove it."

Sara frowned, startled. "Well, I'm _not_ cutting off anyone's hand. There's got to be another way, Nottingham."

"I wish I knew of one." He bowed his head. "I wish I could help you both."

Sara stared at him. He had spoken of his loyalty and dedication to her in the past, but she was only now starting to believe in it. There was no denying those things now, listening to his voice and quite probably watching him risk his life to tell her these things. "If you had to chose, Nottingham, me or her, who would you pick?" She had expected an immediate response in Cailean's favor, so she was surprised when Ian hesitated.

"I don't know. There must be a way to save both of you. I _will_ find it." 

He sounded so confident, like a little boy stating his unequivocal belief in magic, but Sara knew better. When Irons played the game of Life, there were invariably going to be casualties. "You should have let me shoot him..." she muttered bitterly.

"I could not. He was... _is_ the only father we have ever known."

"Some father..." Sara muttered, shaking her head in disgust. "Nottingham... Ian. Does she _want_ the Witchblade for herself?" She could not believe that, either.

He shook his head firmly, no more able to believe that than Sara. "She never has. I don't know why she took it this time. I had believed that she would have died before she would have willingly harmed you." He bowed his head. "She was ordered to kill you, yet she did not..." he muttered in her defense. "In the past, she has never hesitated to kill at his order, but _you_... She could not."

Sara sensed that Ian was trying to excuse Cailean's behaviors. He did not wish her to be angry with Cailean for the attack, and Sara, who had come to know Irons better than she could have wished, was _not_ angry with Cailean.

"He once said that, if the Witchblade truly belonged to anyone, it belonged to me. Is that still true?"

Ian nodded.

"Good. I'm going to get it back, Nottingham. I really hope that it won't come to hurting Cailean, but you need to know that I will, if that's what it takes." 

She could not believe that she had just said that. It was almost as if the words had not been her own. It took her a moment to realize that they were the words of Sara the Wielder, not Pez the Detective. She shook her head in frustration. This was worse than the nagging suspicion she had felt when she first acquired the Witchblade that she might be going insane. After spending almost a year rejecting her connection to the Witchblade, it had been taken from her and she would do anything to get it back. It made no sense, and she knew it.

Ian was horrified. He had no doubt that Sara would make good on her threat if she did not have the Witchblade soon. Her hunger for it, like the hunger that Irons felt for it, was too strong to allow reason to intrude. Sara would go after Cailean, forcing the girl to chose between killing Sara in self-defense and sacrificing herself so that Sara could recover the Witchblade. Either way, one of them would die, and there was little that Ian could do. 

"Give us a week, Sara..." Ian pled quietly. It was the one thing he _could_ do. "Half a week, even. I will do everything in my power to return it to you in that time."

"Three days..." Sara muttered, and again the words did not seem her own. "Nottingham..." she began gently, sorry to have put him in this position but powerless to take back what she had said.

"Forgive us..." he whispered, bowing his head. When he looked at her again, there were tears in his eyes. "This way, Detective."

***

Irons was beyond furious with Cailean. He clutched the lash tightly as he paced around the room, berating her for her weakness and carelessness. She stood in the center of the room, head bowed, arms clasped behind her back, ignoring her bleeding hand and the physical and psychological pain that gnawed at her. Even though the pain from the Witchblade was almost gone, the pain in her palm felt nonexistent by comparison.

Having run out of insults, Irons demanded, "How do you plan on remedying this situation, child?"

"Would you have me kill the Wielder?" Cailean asked, managing to sound completely impassive.

"_You_ are the Wielder now, child..." Irons told her in a gentle voice, brushing his fingers across her left cheek.

"For once, sir, let us speak frankly." Cailean glanced up at him. "I am not even worthy to be a Pretender to that title and we both know it."

Irons was more than a little shocked by this. Never before had she addressed him as anything other than a superior, her master. Even the title 'sir' lacked the deference he was accustomed to from her, and the statement she had made had placed them on the level of equals.

"What has happened to you?" he asked himself, thoroughly confused.

"_You_ happened to me." Cailean stared at him, daring him to deny it. "You made me what I am..." 

She clenched her fists, once more willing the Witchblade to activate. It remained obstinate in its refusal, but Cailean no longer cared. It was as if she was seeing Irons for the first time, a depraved old man who could _never_ be a real threat to her. She could beat him to death without breaking a sweat and they both knew it. She did not need the Witchblade for this, never had. This was the reason it was punishing her, for not having seen that earlier. She smiled at Irons, feeling suddenly, strangely free.

When she spoke, it was in a deceptively calm and quiet tone. "You made me what I am, dad." She laughed quietly, humorlessly as she advanced on him. She could sense his fear, almost taste it, and it was sweet.

When he raised the lash against her in self-defense, she caught it in her hand and pulled it easily out of his grasp, ignoring the way it bit into her already-injured palm. Pain seemed far less important to her than the long-deserved penance that Irons was about to pay. She caught his arm and pulled him towards the fire-place. When he had beat one of them, it was always on this flagstone surface. She shoved him to the ground.

"Cailean..." he gasped, starting to climb to his feet. Fear was visible in his cold eyes.

"You so much as _flinch_ from this lash, dad, and I _will_ kill you. On your knees." Her voice remained quiet and steady.

"Cailean. Child..." Irons began in a reasonable tone.

"You know," Cailean began, ignoring his attempts to reason with her, "this lash easily tears through skin and muscle, as Ian and I can both attest. Wonder what it does to Italian silk..."

"Cailean, you can't do this!" Irons gasped, not trying to rise. He could not believe that his Cailean would actually, willingly harm him. "You have said that you love me."

"I do, dad." Cailean dropped to her knees next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "I love you the way only a daughter _can_ love a father, no matter what a cold, hateful creature he is. One small problem. I love Ian more." She shook her head. "You could have done anything you wanted to me and I wouldn't have raised my hand against you. Involving Ian in this evil, however, was unforgivable of you." She smiled pleasantly at him and rose. 

"What are you going to do?" Irons asked quietly.

"Um, I think one lash for every lash you gave him in the past two beatings is a good start." She raised the lash and applied it forcefully to his back, listening to him scream in pain. She dropped to her knees in front of the gasping man, brushing her hair out of her face so that he could see the gash there. "Not fun, is it, dad?" she asked gently, patting his shoulder. "_That_ was one. When I dressed Ian's wounds, I counted at least fifty. Do you want to keep count, or should I?" She rose and struck him two more times. "You haven't passed out yet..." she said calmly. "I'm impressed."

"What do you want, Cailean..." Irons gasped, too startled and in too much pain to move. "Money?"

She scoffed. "I've never wanted for that. What I want doesn't have a price."

"Revenge?" he asked weakly. His head was swimming from the pain. His only chance of not dying at her hands was for Ian to return.

"Freedom." She hit him twice more, then dropped the lash and dropped to her knees in front of him. Backhanding him when it looked like he might pass out. "What do you say, dad? How much is that worth? How much is Ian's childhood worth? Or my innocence?"

"Freedom..." Irons gasped, nodding. "It's yours."

"I don't believe you. I've learned too well from you to believe a victim under this kind of duress." She shrugged helplessly. "What's a girl to do, dad?" She shoved him.

He flew backwards, landing on his back with a scream. Cailean rose and closed the distance between them, giving him three swift kicks in the ribs.

Irons rolled onto his stomach and lay there panting. "You're going to kill me..." he gasped out after several minutes. "For the money..."

Cailean rolled her eyes, looking remarkably like Irons at _his_ most disdainful when she did so. She dropped to her knees again. Grabbing a handful of his hair, she jerked his head up, pulling his face level with her own. "For our _freedom_..." she hissed. 

He was surprised by that, as Cailean had expected. Men like him understood money and pleasure, nothing else. She backhanded him again and dropped him onto the floor. 

"Anything you want..." Irons gasped, too weak and in too much pain to do anything more than negotiate. "Anything... I'll give you whatever you want..."

"How would you die? If I owe you anything, it's that choice... Well?" Cailean asked, unmoved by his plea.

"Go to hell!" Irons spat.

"After you, dad." 

Cailean rose, pulling him with her. She shoved him into a wall and slammed the crown of her head into his face, stunning. Twisting one hand around his tie and collar to hold him up, she used the other to deliver a series of punches to his stomach. She dropped him to the floor and kicked him again, then dropped to her knees next to him, cradling his head in her arms.

"I guess I at least owe you a quick death..." she whispered to the half-unconscious man, tears streaking down her face. "You would do the same for me."

"In a heartbeat..." Irons groaned. "I love you, my little warrior."

"I love you, dad..." Cailean whispered.

Tears streaked down her face and mingled with his blood as she continued to beat him. This man, whatever else he was, was her father. For all the bad times, there had been good times, too: games of chess, horse-back rides, lazy afternoons spent discussing philosophy or finance. The beatings had not been many, and she had understood the need for every one of them. Cailean meant 'my little warrior', and he had always called her that when he was especially proud of or pleased with her. He had been trying to turn her into something, making her more than she was in what she had to believe was the only way he knew how.

She stopped abruptly, in mid-kick and stared at him with wide eyes. He was beyond even noticing that the beating had stopped. He had been trying to turn her into something. If she killed him now, it meant that he had succeeded in that, that she was the same as him. To kill him in fair combat would have been one thing, but to kill him like this, when he was weak and she was strong... She refused to lower herself in such a manner. Shaking, she lifted him gently into her arms and moved him to a couch.

"Don't worry, dad. Ian'll be back shortly from seeing Lady Sara out. He'll take good care of you."

She bent and swiftly kissed his cheek, before turning and fleeing the room. Her time was short now, and if she did not act quickly, Ian might be forced into being the instrument of her death. That could not be allowed any more than Irons could be allowed to control the Witchblade. She knew what had to be done, and she was unafraid.


	11. Resolutions

**Chapter 11 -- Resolutions**

"Ian, find her..." Irons whispered hoarsely as Immo worked on him. 

The decision had not been an easy one to reach. In spite of everything, Cailean was still his little warrior. The odds that she would come back to him willingly, even with Ian applying pressure, were low. So Cailean would have to die, and there could be no replacement for her. Immo had never had any luck replicating Cailean's genetics. He called them unstable, a copy of a copy. Obviously he had been more right than he had known. Cailean, a copy of a copy, was as unstable as her genetics. 

He had made two mistakes with Cailean: creating her and loving her.

"Sir?" Ian asked, stalling for time.

"Bring her back. Her or her head, Ian..." Irons gasped. "She has betrayed both of us, betrayed Sara... Bring her to me!" Irons opened his eyes long enough to glance at Ian. The comment about Sara seemed to have hit home. The assassin was pale. "Go now, my son."

Ian bowed and swept from the room, pale with rage at Irons for trying to shift the blame for this to Cailean. He had no intent to bring Cailean back to this place, to this man. Irons would kill her if he did that. But he could go to her, try once more to retrieve the Witchblade, and then help her flee the city. He opened his bedroom but paused at the threshold. One wall of his room was occupied by several different sets of swords. A single short-sword was missing from its peg.

He shook his head helplessly. "Cailean, do not force me to this..." he whispered, resting bare hands on the wall where the sword had hung. 

He closed his eyes and saw a vision of Cailean staring at the swords thoughtfully before selecting the short sword. Her hands lingered over the Japanese short sword for several moments before she took it. He shook his head, confused by the significance of the vision. He knew there must be some, something about the sword she had selected, but he could find none. The sword was unfit for combat, so why take it? Taking the sword's longer twin and securing it around his waist, he hurried from the room, stopping only long enough to retrieve several thousand dollars in cash that he kept squirreled away there. It was not much, but he could provide her with more once she was out of the reach of Kenneth Irons. If anyone could ever truly be out of his reach. 

He left the mansion and relied on his connection to Cailean to show him the way. She had to have sensed his mental probing for her, and Ian took it as a promising sign that she did nothing to thwart his search.

***

Danny gently squeezed her shoulder. "You don't have to do this, Cailean."

"I'm as good as dead already, or you wouldn't be able to do that..." she pointed out softly. She looked at him sadly. "I am so sorry about hurting your friend, Detective Woo..."

He nodded. "I know. So does she. She's not mad." Danny sighed. "There has to be another way, Cailean..."

She shook her head. "No. I brought this on myself. I have no one to blame but me." She smiled sadly at him. "Sometimes, Detective Woo, living in a world where parallel lines intersect can be very unpleasant."

"It won't always be this way..." Danny confided gently, brushing away a lone tear that was making its way down her face. "There are other lives and other times..." he trailed off, knowing that he was coming very close to giving away privileged information. Not that it mattered. Cailean was not only as good as dead, the odds were good that she knew as much about the Witchblade as Danny himself did. Always assuming that she did not know more.

She nodded. "I know. Every time before this, I was smart enough to recognize that I could not control the Blade. This time, I decided that I could. I tried to twist it to my will, like _him_. It was the dumbest thing I've ever done."

"Funny, this morning you were saying that the stupidest thing you've ever done was telling Elizabeth Bronte about the Witchblade..."

She glanced up at him with a humorless smile. "Dumbest thing in this life, then. As if there's really any difference between one and another. You, me, Ian, Lady Sara... we've all been here before."

Danny shook his head. "Not here, Cailean. Not like this. Something slipped this time, went wrong for you."

She looked at Danny and lightly brushed her fingers across his cheek. "Not just for me."

He smiled and bowed his head. "It won't always be this way..." he repeated.

"We always end up here..." she muttered softly, glancing up at him. "Every time, you and me, her teacher and her friend, trying to figure out what the hell we could have done differently..." She laughed bitterly. "Gods, Detective Woo... Is it just me or does the universe derive just a little too much pleasure from making us remember?"

"I didn't remember. Not until I was shot. You and Ian are different that way, special."

"Lucky us... Mentor and guardian, life after life, watching her die because we failed or dying knowing that it meant that we would no longer be able to protect her..."

"Does he remember as well, then?" Danny asked.

She shook her head. "Dreams, visions, nothing definitive, nothing solid. All he knows is that he loves her, if he even knows that much. How is she?"

"Sitting in her apartment with her gun in her lap waiting for the other shoe to drop." Danny sighed. "I wish I could tell her that everything's going to be okay."

"You'll be able to see her again soon." Cailean stared at the sword in her hands, unafraid. "He was right about me. I _am_ weak." He had called her weak when she had failed to kill Sara. The truth was that she had been strong then. She had been weak when she had failed to kill _Irons._

"No, you're strong." He patted her shoulder gently. "Stronger than you know. Look at the sacrifice you're willing to make for them..."

"A sacrifice that I never would have been forced to take if I'd been able to do what I had to before..." She shook her head and looked up at him. "All I am is a washed-up druggie prostitute with a death-wish. I'm nothing special, never have been."

"You were strong enough to spare Sara's life when you'd been ordered to take it."

"For all the good that did..."

"It spared your brother a lot of pain. And Sara's still alive. And Irons doesn't have the Witchblade. _That_, Cailean, is a lot of good."

She sighed and smiled at him. "Hey, next lifetime, don't get married until we've met, okay?"

Danny laughed and bowed his head. "That's the sweetest thing a girl's ever said to me."

She smiled and nodded, hugging him. "Watch her well, okay. Keep an eye on Ian, too, please."

"Cailean?" Ian's voice rang through the warehouse.

"Here, my brother..." she called without turning to the sound of his voice. She looked at Danny. "This damned thing won't come off. Tell Lady Sara I'm sorry for that, too..."

He nodded and disappeared, tears in his eyes. Ian waited several dozen yards away until it was clear that her conversation with Danny was over, then he approached her. She turned to face him, holding the sword loosely in one hand, her expression unreadable. He paused for a moment, but did not reach for his own sword. He looked at her questioningly.

"He sent you to bring me back, Ian?"

Ian nodded. "You or your head, were his words."

Cailean sighed. "I imagined as much, though I doubt he meant the latter injunction literally."

"I'm not going to force you to that..." Ian began, reaching for the envelope with the money in it.

"Ian, listen to me. My time is short, and I want you to listen to me carefully."

"Cailean, I'm not going to bring you back to him..." Ian said firmly.

"Of that I've no doubt, Ian. But the truth is that, if you don't, you put not only yourself, but also Lady Sara in peril."

"You... you would have me bring you back?" Ian asked uncertainly. He had never even considered that possibility before. He was alarmed to realize that he could no more go through with that than he could have killed her.

"No. I would never force you to do such a thing."

"I don't understand, Cailean."

"He might... tell you things about me after I die." She stared at him sadly. "They will likely all be true, Ian, but I want you to understand..." 

"He forced you to those things, Cailean..." Ian whispered, lightly brushing his fingers over her uninjured cheek. Irons had forced both of them to do things that they would rather not have done. Ian could not condemn her for that. "I could never think less of you for them after the way you spared Sara. I understand now why you did what you did, Cailean, and I love you still."

"Oh..." Cailean whimpered, tears forming in her eyes. "Ian, I love you so much..." she whispered, pulling him into a hug with one arm.

Ian returned the embrace, wishing that she would put down that damned sword and hug him properly, but not willing to complain. He had assumed many things about Cailean since the attack on Sara, all of them wrong. This woman with a sword in her hand and tears in her eyes was his Cailean, not really any different from Ian himself. That meant that they loved Sara and they loved each other and that nothing could ever come between them and their loves, not even Irons.

"This is the closest we shall ever come to a happy ending, big brother..." Cailean told him gently, pulling away and smiling lovingly at him.

"Perhaps it is close enough..." Ian ventured, once more proffering the envelope with the money.

Cailean shook her head and pushed it away. She hated herself for what she was about to do, for the shock and it would cause Ian, but she knew that if she had told him of her plans he would not have allowed her to do what she knew she had to. The fact that Ian would not have forced her to come back meant nothing. If she had walked free, Ian and Sara both would have been in immeasurable danger. She herself would have been, although the fact meant nothing to her. What _was_ important was that, with Cailean dead and Sara once more in possession of the Witchblade, both Sara and Ian would once more be safe from Irons.

"All I ever wanted was for you to be free..." she whispered, reversing the sword and driving it into her own gut. Once it was in far enough, she forced it upwards several inches and jerked it to the left, all too quickly for Ian to react, all without making a sound. Her knees buckled and she slid to the ground.

"_Cailean_!" Ian shrieked with his mind as well as his voice, filling her entire awareness with the sound. He dropped to his knees next to her and cradled her in his arms. "No, Cailean... No, please... Please..." He shook his head frantically. "You can't... Cailean." Tears streaked down his face unnoticed. "I don't want to be alone..."

She reached up and smoothed away his tears. "You're less alone than you know, Ian. And I will continue to watch over you always..." She grunted as he tried to pull the sword out. "Don't..." She shook her head. "I love you, big brother."

"I love you, baby sister..." Ian leaned against her, sobbing. 

Cailean reached up and pulled the Witchblade from her arm, tucking it into Ian's pocket. "I never cared about myself. All I wanted was for you to be free..." she repeated. "Now I'm free, but you still aren't. I'm sorry that it couldn't have turned out differently."

"If this is freedom, I can take it, too..." Ian whispered.

"No..." Cailean told him in as firm a voice as she could manage. "You must _live_. For our Lady. Even in this way, you may still be able to find a measure of freedom. As long as you serve her, you _are_ as free as you or I ever can be in this life. I know this from the experience of many lives, Ian. Dying for our Lady is easy. Living for her is _so_ difficult, but the rewards can be great."

Ian nodded weakly. 

"Are you willing to live for our Lady?"

He nodded. "For as long as my life may benefit hers."

She nodded and pulled a dagger from her belt. Hare Kari was a notoriously slow and painful way to die. She had no intention of suffering in this way for several hours and, perhaps, taking the chance that Irons might find and save her. "Ian, go to our Lady. Give her what is in your pocket."

"I will not leave you..." he protested.

"I order it. Go now, Ian. I have no wish for you to see me finish what I have begun here. I have caused you enough pain for one life. Please, my brother. Bring her the Witchblade before he recovers enough to stop you..."

"I love you, Cailean..." he whispered, rising. "Always..." Warrior that she was, Cailean had no fear of death, and Ian had no fear of leaving her to it. They knew life and death too well to believe this separation anything but a temporary one, at the end of which they would be together again, serving their Lady as they were meant to, exactly as they always had and always would. Always took on a unique, mystical significance for them. It truly meant always.

_Always, Ian..._ she whispered in his mind, too weak to speak any more. She waited until the sound of his footfalls had faded to raise the dagger to her throat. Her final thoughts were of her overwhelming love for and pride in her brother. She broadcast them to him and felt his gently, loving touch in reply before darkness took her.

***

Sara lay on her floor, panting. The pain had been overwhelming, not to mention completely unexpected. It was fading now, but she was still too stunned by it to move until gentle hands raised her and tenderly conveyed her to the couch. A gentle, gloved hand wiped away her tears and tenderly brushed her hair from her face. 

Enormous, tear-filled brown eyes regarded her with loving concern. The man who owned those eyes crouched before her, watching her intently and murmuring soothingly, waiting for her to recover.

"Nottingham? What the hell was that?" she managed after a few moments.

"Cailean. She is dead..." Ian managed, his voice cracking as he spoke.

Sara realized to her horror that he was covered in blood. "Did you..." she began, unable to believe it.

He shook his head. "I was given a choice of killing her or returning her to Irons. I had planned on helping her flee, but that would have put you in danger. Cailean recognized this where I could not. She took the decision from my hands."

Sara stared at him, wide-eyed for a few moments, her mouth moving soundlessly as she absorbed what he had said. "She killed herself?" Sara asked finally.

Ian nodded and abruptly began shaking. He let out a strangled moan and buried his face in his hands, rocking himself. Sara's own eyes filled with tears for the assassin and she gently pulled him onto the couch, pulling him into her arms and holding him close. Ian wrapped his arms around her and sobbed so hard that she was afraid he might hurt himself. She crooned a reassuringly lullaby and rocked him gently on the couch, waiting for it to pass. This last year had taught her a lot, including the fact that sometimes there was nothing to do _but_ grieve for those you loved.

Ian abruptly loosened his grip on her and sat up, looking away, less ashamed of his tears than he was of treatment of his Lady. "Forgive my outburst..." He started to rise

"Shh..." Sara whispered, catching his hand and pulling him back down. "You've got every right to be torn apart, Nottingham. Ian..." she corrected herself. She gently wiped away his tears with her fingers. "I know exactly what you're going through. Let me help you."

Ian stared at her with wide, fearful eyes, as though afraid that she might be teasing him. More tears streamed down his cheeks, but he did not sob this time, only stared into the eyes of the woman he loved. She meant it, he realized. She cared enough about him to help him through his pain. 

"I am grateful, Lady Sara..." he whispered, bowing his head.

"Look at me, Ian..." Sara whispered. When he had looked up she gently brushed his hair out of his face. "You look like hell, Nottingham..." she told him gently.

"I _feel_ like hell." After a moment, he admitted, "I've never lost anyone before."

"Oh, hey..." Sara squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I have only ever truly cared for three people before. One of them is now dead. How do I carry on, my Lady?"

"One day at a time." Sara slid next to him and wrapped a gentle arm around him, pulling him close. "It hurts, Ian. Bad. But every day it gets a little easier." She sighed. "I know it sounds trite, but it's true."

He nodded weakly. He felt so depressed that not even the fact that Lady Sara had one arm around him registered. "I hope it is."

"It is..." she whispered, patting his knee with her other hand. "Come here..." 

She pulled him into her arms again and held him tightly, not knowing any other way to comfort him. They sat together for hours in a silence broken only by an occasional sniffle or hiccupping sob from Ian. 

Sara held him tightly, occasionally rocking him for a few minutes or smoothing his hair out of his face. She knew exactly what he was going through, and, for once, their respective professions did not make a bit of difference. He needed comfort and she was damned well going to give it to him, assassin or not.

Ian had never felt as loved and contented as he did during those hours in her embrace. It was almost as if that pair of arms alone were an adequate shield to keep all the evils of the world away. If it were possible, his admiration for Sara increased in that time. He had seen both her strength and her vulnerability. He had never expected to be on the receiving end of her compassion.

When he saw that it was getting dark, he reluctantly broke away and rose. "Thank you, Lady Sara."

"Could you just call me Sara?" she asked, with an exasperated but tolerant grin. "Just... give it a try, huh?"

"Thank you, Sara, for everything." Ian bowed. "I am grateful."

"Hey, we all need a shoulder to cry on sometimes. Any time, you know."

He nodded. "Thank you." He turned to leave, but Sara stepped in front of him, hands on her hips. He stared at her quizzically. "Sara?"

"I _mean_ it, Nottingham..." she told him firmly. "I want you to know that I mean it. If you need anything..."

The tears that rolled down his cheeks this time were not shed in sorrow. "Thank you, Sara. I am more grateful than you can know."

She smiled and spread her arms. "Come here..."

He looked at her uncertainly for a moment, so she sighed in irritation and closed the distance between them herself, hugging him. 

Ian stood rigid for a moment, startled, then cautiously put his arms around her as well. Holding her in his arms like this was amazing, exhilarating. It did not exactly diminish the pain he felt over Cailean's loss, but it reminded him of her injunction to live for Sara. He was equally surprised to realize that they were not alone in the room. Not one but two gentle presences observed the hug with approval before vanishing from the apartment. 

Although she very much enjoyed the way it felt to be held by him, Sara firmly reminded herself that he was still pretty emotionally torn-up. This was not a good time to take advantage of him, no matter how great he smelled or how inviting his body felt. Besides, she recalled when he winced away from one of her hands, he was pretty torn up physically as well. Muttering an apology, she slid her hands into his pockets instead, pulling him close that way.

She paused, startled. "Nottingham?" she asked softly.

"Yes, Sara?" he asked cautiously, dropping his arms, afraid that he had offended her by holding her too long or too tightly.

"Is that a Witchblade in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Sara managed, barely, to keep a straight face as she spoke, but afterwards she could not help but grin.

Ian stared at her wide-eyed for a moment, startled by the innuendo. He stammered for a few seconds before replying. "Cailean wanted me to return it to you. I'd... forgotten." He bowed his head, ashamed by his lapse.

_Gee, wonder why? _Sara thought to herself. "It's okay..." She smiled reassuringly and extended her hand, waiting for him to hand it over.

He removed it from his pocket and extended it to her, then paused. "If I may..." he asked, amazed at his own boldness.

"Sure." Sara shrugged and let him lead her over to the couch. She sat down and waited.

Ian knelt before her and took her right hand in one of his. He started to slip the Witchblade on, then paused. As Sara watched, confused, he turned her hand over and ran his fingers lightly over the scars on the underside of her wrist. 

"Did it hurt?" he asked softly.

"Yeah." Sara nodded. "It hurt."

Ian turned her hand over again. He slid the Witchblade back onto her wrist. "I hope it hurts less this time..."

Sara let out a small hiss as the Witchblade buried itself in her flesh again. She was surprised by how swiftly the integration was completely. "Hey, it wasn't as bad this time..." In fact, it had been almost pleasant.

Ian nodded and ran a gloved finger over the glowing stone. "It missed you..." he said, nodding towards the swirling pattern.

"Okay..." Sara said, confused.

He bent and swiftly kissed her hand before rising and turning to leave. "Thank you, Sara. For everything."

She nodded. "Hey, Nottingham?" she said gently.

"Hey, Sara..." he smiled faintly at the recollection of previous conversations that this aroused. She did not sound unduly upset by his boldness, either, which was a good thing.

"You said you've ever truly cared about three people?"

Ian nodded. "Yes, Sara."

"Cailean and Irons are gimmes. Who's the third?"

Ian bowed his head again. "A woman I once knew. A warrior, strong, brave, and kind. Good day, Sara. Thank you." Ian left before Sara could reply.

"You do know who he's talking about, don't you?"

Sara jumped, then smiled. "Danny! Oh, God, is it good to see you again."

"Just dropped in to deliver a message."

"Message?" Sara repeated, frowning. "Didn't know the afterlife had an answering service, Danny."

He grinned and shrugged. "Figured it couldn't hurt just this once. Cailean says she's sorry."

She nodded, frowning sadly at the waste of the woman's life. "I know she is, Danny."

"So, _do_ you know who Nottingham was talking about?" Danny asked with a wicked grin. "I do..." he said and vanished.

Sara stared at the place where he had been, blinking. "Uh-huh..." One Nottingham in her life again, Danny being his usual krypto self, healthy dose of contempt for Irons... "Well, what do you know, life's getting back to normal..."

***

As Ian scrubbed the blood out of his coat, he thought about the time he had spent with Sara today. It amazed him that a woman like her could honestly care about him or his feelings, but from her behavior today, she obviously did. It was amazing, and it made him happier than he could have thought possible. It was like walking on a cushion of air. Even his grief for Cailean was less in light of it. Cailean was happy now, as she had never had a chance to be in life. He had sensed her presence again briefly after he had left Sara. She was happy, at peace, free... And she had been right. He could do so much more good in Sara's life by living for her. Perhaps he could even serve her in more ways than one.

He would tell her, he decided. He would tell her that he loved her and perhaps his Lady might bring herself to love him back in this lifetime, too. But how to say it? What words to use? He smiled as he decided. The truth, he would tell her the truth.

_I love you, Sara... in unguarded moments._****

**The End**


End file.
